


A Song of Blessing and Comfort

by elrhiarhodan



Series: Jewish Kingsman [2]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: All of the family feels, Asexual Harry Hart, Background Eggsy/Merlin, Completely Disregards The Golden Circle, Cornwall, Crossword Puzzles, Crying, Eggsy has a bad moment or two, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Percival, Harry Hart Lives, Harry Hart as Arthur, Harry Hart is a Little Shit, Harry Hart's Loving Family, Harry's Brother is a sweet cinnamon roll, Harry's Mother is a beautiful badass, How Wonderful Is This Family, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Harry Hart, Jewish cultural traditions, Merlin playing headgames whatelse is new, Mourning Rituals, Not really a holiday fic, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Puppies!!!!!!!, Reunion, The children are delightful, all the feels, coming out as asexual, everyone cries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:55:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28713891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Merlin and Harry's friendship didn't begin at Kingsman, but when Merlin had been a scholarship student at the same exclusive public school that the aristocratic Hart boys had attended for generations.  Harry's family had all but adopted Merlin, and Merlin had reached out to them with a warning before Valentine's deadly signal had gone off.   Almost a year after Harry's death, Merlin is invited to the unveiling of Harry's gravestone at the family cemetery in Cornwall.  As this is a time for family and friends to gather and give comfort to each other, to commemorate and honor and remember the loved one they lost, Merlin reaches out to Harry's brother and asks it it would be all right to bring Harry's young protégé with him.Just as Merlin ends the call, his doorbell rings...(Rewritten and republished from earlier version - now complete)
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad & Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Harry Hart | Galahad & Merlin, Harry Hart | Galahad & Percival
Series: Jewish Kingsman [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052108
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I noted in the summary, this is a rewritten and republished version of the story I originally started posting in mid-December as a Chanukah story. I normally do not post incomplete stories, but I thought it would be a nice holiday treat to write and post a fic with one chapter for each night of Chanukah. But I ran into a bit of a problem, this story was NOT a Chanukah story and I got stuck trying to make it one. It was also pretty clear that I did as rather poor job of summarizing and tagging the story - frankly, I wouldn't want to read this, looking at the tags ::shuddders::
> 
> So, with that in mind, I did a fair bit if surgery on the four chapters already posted. I don't know if anyone who has already read them will notice a difference, but the changes are significant to me to help the flow of the story in the later chapters.
> 
> This story is also a departure for me, with its heavy focus on original characters and outsider POV. I know that isn't to everyone's tastes, but sometimes a fresh point of view helps you see things more clearly. I introduced Harry's lovely family in [A Secret Chord](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22022974), and I always wanted to explore how they dealt with Harry's "death" after the events of The Secret Service. I thought that it would be a short series of vignettes, like _A Secret Chord_ , but of course not. That isn't how I roll these days. And it's not just his family who needed to deal with their grief. Eggsy had issues, too. Big issues that I didn't even realize he had until he opened his mouth. And then Harry's own issues needed some sorting out. So, a month later...
> 
> It goes without saying that you should probably read A Secret Chord first. And probably [Blessed Art Thou](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16785079), which got this small series started. 
> 
> Thank you.

"This arrived with the morning post, sir." Andrew hands Merlin an envelope, notable in it composition - heavy linen card stock, bordered in black, with beautiful handwritten addressing, to Ian Stewart, care of Kingsman Tailors. 

Merlin flips it over and notes the embossed return address. _Tintagel, Cornwall._ He sighs and tucks it into his briefcase. "Thank you. Have a good evening, Andrew."

"You, too, sir."

There’s a cab waiting, but Merlin tells the driver he won’t be needing it tonight. Even thought it will take the best part of an hour, he wants to walk home. Even though it’s mid-November, the evening temperature is comfortable enough for an extended stroll, and he knows that the cab will follow as a security measure. He needs to clear his head and regain some equilibrium, not just because of the day he’s had, but the piece of mail he’s just received has affected him. It’s not unexpected, or even all that unwelcome. It’s just a reminder of the passage of time and a loss that is never going to heal.

By the time he lets himself into his house, Merlin is exhausted, but in a good way. He spends too much time behind a desk these days; a necessity as both acting Arthur and Kingsman’s quartermaster. He just doesn’t have the time to get much physical exercise. 

The sound of claws and jangling dog tags is a welcome sound as Merlin disengages the alarm system. JB, Eggsy’s pug, comes running from the kitchen to greet him.

"Hold ye horses, ye wee hairy bastard, I’ll be right there." Merlin takes a moment to exchange his Oxfords for a pair of house slippers and follows the beastie towards the back of the house to let him out. JB is a strange creature. He has no problem using the doggie door all day, but the minute Merlin comes home, the pub refuses to do his business without an audience. 

Merlin stands and waits and looks anywhere but at the little dog squatting in the far corner of the garden, and wonders why he didn’t just let Eggsy leave the dog at the kennel at HQ before he left for his mission in Croatia. It’s not as if they wouldn’t treat JB like a prince of the realm.

Finished with his business, JB comes trotting up to Merlin, panting happily. "I guess ye know I’m a soft touch, right?"

JB barks in agreement.

In the kitchen, Merlin prepares the dog’s dinner - an all-organic feast of fresh vegetables and proteins perfectly balanced to keep him healthy. It’s not too dissimilar to what Merlin will make for himself, except his meal will be accompanied by several large glasses of wine.

Merlin manages not to think about the envelope in his briefcase until well after the dishes are done and he’s settled in his favorite chair with some soothing jazz playing quietly in the background. He has a measure of very terrible Scotch at hand - the last of the bottle of Piper’s Clan he’d bought for Harry but hadn’t had a chance to give him. Harry had spent his final Chanukah in a coma and then everything just accelerated to a seemingly inevitable endpoint. Finishing this gift not given feels fitting tonight.

Unwilling to delay the inevitable any longer, Merlin opens the envelope and pulls out the card. It’s an announcement for the unveiling of the headstone of Harold Reginald Hart, at the family cemetery at Cardoc Manor in Tintagel, Cornwall in three weeks. 

Merlin stares at the card until the words blur. As he slides it back into the envelope, he realizes that there’s a note accompanying the announcement.

_Ian -_

_I am looking forward to seeing you. You were Harry’s dearest friend and part of my life since we were schoolboys. My brother is lost to me, but you are not and I hope we can remain friends. Also, it would please my mother greatly if you could stay a day or two after the ceremony and share some of your memories of Harry with her. His life in London was so distant from us, here in Cornwall._

_Stephen_

Merlin blinks and pulls off his glasses to wipe away the tears. He and Harry had been inseparable from the moment Merlin had arrived at Winchester, as a poor, pimply outsider at a prestigious English public school. It had been bad enough that Ian Stewart had been Scottish and a scholarship student, but that he’d been a Jew made him practically a pariah. At first, Ian had resisted Harry’s offer of friendship, wondering if it was a joke or a prank, but soon falling prey to his irresistible charm. They had been friends for almost a full term before he’d learned that Harry’s mother was Jewish, which meant that Harry was Jewish, too. 

But as close as he and Harry had been, it had been Harry’s older brother, Stephen Hart, heir to the grand title and estate of the Marquess Cardoc, not to mention one of the Gods of Winchester college - a prefect and then Head Boy - who’d made young Ian’s life bearable, shielding him from bullies of all stripes. 

Merlin takes a moment to compose himself and then pulls out his cellphone, scrolling through his contacts. One of the last times he’d spoken to Stephen Hart had been to warn him about Valentine’s deadly SIM cards, to make sure that no one on the estate had a cellphone in their possession. It had been Chester who had called Harry’s family to give them the news of his passing; a mugging in America, poor Harry had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

The very last time he and Stephen had talked had been about two weeks after V-Day, Stephen had called him, hoping against hope that Merlin could help. It seemed that the police in Kentucky had misplaced Harry’s body - what with all the casualties and chaos after V-day - and it couldn’t be brought home for the interment.

Until that moment, Merlin hadn’t even given a thought to Harry’s family and his funeral. Kingsman custom is to leave a fallen agent where they die and hang a portrait in the Memorial Hall, but Harry’s family would certainly have wanted him brought home. Chester had probably given Stephen just enough information to frustrate him, _bastard_.

It had been no effort to hack into the local police database and review the report on the church massacre. There’s a note that due to the strain on resources, all of the bodies were sent for cremation. When he’d relayed that information to Stephen, the man had wept.

The sense of failure is the biggest reason why Merlin has not been able maintain the connection. He’s never been able to rid himself of the feeling that he could have done something to save Harry, but Stephen’s letter touches him to the core and he has to reach out. Without letting himself overthink things, Merlin taps the contact for Stephen Hart, Marquess Cardoc, and then for the man’s personal cellphone number.

He half hopes that the phone rings through to voice mail, but Stephen answers on the second ring. _"Hello?"_

"Stephen, it’s Ian. I got the notice, and yer note today."

 _"Ian - "_ There’s a wealth of grief - and affection - in Stephen’s voice. _"It is so good to hear from you. I hope you’re not calling to say that you can’t make it."_

"No, I’ll move heaven and earth to be there. Nothing and no one will keep me away." Merlin knows he shouldn’t make promises like that, but for Harry’s sake, he will be there.

_"Do you think you can spend a few days? Or is that asking too much?"_

Merlin sighs. "I can’t make any promises on that score, this is a rough time of year for the business, ye know. But I’ll try for at least one night."

 _"That would be wonderful. Harry used to bitch about how busy he got during the holiday season, but I think he preferred going to visit clients if it meant not having to suffer through another one of Chester King’s god-awful Christmas parties."_ Stephen pauses. _"I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead."_

"It’s fine. Chester is neither missed nor mourned." That is certainly the truth. "Stephen, I was wondering…" Merlin doesn’t know if he should do this, but it feels right. Harry would want this. "The last year - before Harry was killed - he’d hired a young man, brought him into the business as his protégé. Harry had been very fond of him, and thought he had great promise. And Gary was very fond of Harry, he was heartbroken when he found out Harry was killed. I know that an unveiling is usually just for family and close friends, and if you want to keep it that way, just say the word - "

_"Oh, no - certainly not! Please bring him. Mother would love to meet someone that Harry had taken under his wing. Both of you will stay at the Manor, for however long you can manage. Don’t even think of fighting me on this, all right?"_

"All right. It will be good to see you and the family. How is Lady Hart? Both of them, but your mother, in particular."

_"It’s been a hard year. The children are a joy and keep her going. But time moves forward and I fear the inevitable. I count my blessings that my mother is healthy in mind and body and shall say nothing more, least I tempt fate."_

Merlin is about to ask if there is anything he can bring the children from London when his doorbell rings and JB wakes up and bursts into a frenzy of barking.

"I have to go, but I’ll call ye to confirm my arrival."

_"Wonderful. I can’t wait to see you, Ian. I wish it were for a happier occasion, but I’ll take whatever I can get._

Merlin disconnects and taps the app that connects to the cameras at his front door. Whoever is there is turned away, deliberately hiding his face. Merlin isn’t a fool, he pockets his phone and retrieves a Glock-22 from one of the many gun drops throughout the house. He flicks off the safety and chambers a round before heading to the door.

"Who is it?"

_"An old friend."_

Merlin recognizes that voice. _This is not possible._ He opens the door and levels the gun and the man standing there.

At Harry Hart, who is very much alive, just minus an eye.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	2. Chapter 2

Stephen quickly silences the alarm and makes sure that he doesn’t wake his wife, Cicely, as he gets out of bed. It’s just a little before five, but he needs to catch an early train to London. He grabs the clothes he’d pulled out last night and heads to the bath.

Despite his best intentions, Cicely is awake when Stephen returns to the bedroom. She’s turned the bedside lamp on and is scrolling through her phone, but she puts it down and gives him a sleepy smile. "You look good enough to eat. I should make you wear a suit on a regular basis."

Stephen sniffs. "Will be kind of strange dealing with the sheep dressed like this."

"True enough." Cicely yawns. "Call me when you get into London, don’t forget."

"I won’t forget, promise." Stephen fumbles a bit with his tie and Cicely sits up, brushes his hands away and re-knots it. He gives her a kiss, and then another one. "I love you."

"Love you, too. Very much. Now go, and let me get back to sleep."

Stephen is barely out of the bedroom before Cicely has turned the light off. Given the hour, rest of the household is still asleep, or so one might think. Stephen heads through to the kitchen to get coffee for the road, and gets the shock of his life. His mother is sitting at the long worktable, drinking coffee and doing the crossword puzzle in yesterday’s newspaper.

"Mother? What are you doing up?"

Miriam shrugs. "I don’t need much sleep these days. No point wasting my time in bed."

"You are up at this hour every day?" Stephen is still in shock.

She shrugs again. "Most days. Sometimes a bit earlier. Sometime I don’t bother going to sleep." She puts down the pen and gets up. "You will want a travel mug to take with you? The pot is fresh." She pulls a thermal cup from a cabinet and before Stephen can snap out of his stupor, his mother has poured and fixed his coffee and holds it out to him. "You better get going, you don’t want to miss your train."

Stephen takes the mug. "We need to talk about this, mum. It can’t be healthy."

"There’s nothing to talk about. I’m an old woman, I have my wits, what more do I need?" Miriam looks at him and Stephen can see her struggle to muster a smile. He feels like he did when he was sixteen and his father had his first heart attack - it had been minor, a warning of things to come. Miriam had tried so hard to hide her worry from her boys. Tried and failed.

But this is not the time to dredge up painful old memories. So Stephen kisses his mother’s cheek, thanks her, and tells her he loves her and that he’ll be home tonight. "Perhaps not for supper, but definitely well before the children’s bedtime."

"Give my best to Ian, and tell him that I’m looking forward to meeting Harry’s young protégé. It will be nice to have someone new to share all of the embarrassing stories with." This time, his mother doesn’t have to force a smile.

"I will."

Davis, the "new" butler who’d taken over when Lucius retired half a decade ago, had brought Stephen’s coat to the back door and had his car left close by last night, before turning in. Stephen juggles his briefcase, the keys, and then has to put everything down to make sure he has his phone, which he does, and gathers everything up again before finally making it out the door.

It’s a twenty minute drive to Bodmin Station, which Stephen makes in less than ten, given the hour and his lead foot. For his efforts, Stephen gets to sit in his car for twenty minutes.

It’s a funny thing, he goes almost a whole year without speaking to Ian and in the course of two weeks, he hears from him twice. Two days ago, Ian had called with the surprising news that Harry had purchased a rather large life insurance policy through the business and named the children as beneficiaries. With all of the chaos in both the world - and the company - they’d kind of lost track of it and then had a hard time getting it settled. But everything has finally been sorted - the big problem had been getting the death certificate from the authorities in Kentucky - and the checks have been issued.

Stephen had told Ian to just bring them down when he comes for the unveiling, but Ian had demurred. Apparently, given the size of the policy, and the status of the beneficiaries as minor children, Stephen needs to collect the checks in person and sign several documents in front of witnesses.

Stephen had wanted to tell Ian, that given the size of the policy payments, the insurance company people could bloody well come down to Cornwall and get the signature of the Marquess Cardoc instead of dragging his lordship to London, but that would be very poor manners indeed. 

Besides, Coutts doesn’t have a branch in Cornwall, and he could go from the shop to the bank and make the deposits before returning home. He should also pay a call on the family solicitors and finally start the process of closing out Harry’s estate. The lack of a death certificate had been only part of the problem. The massive death toll from the V-Day tragedy had put the whole estate court into utter disarray, and frankly Stephen had no qualms about waiting until things settled down before getting Harry’s will sorted out. Even more than the unveiling, dealing with the financial matters would make everything so final. After all, there is no body in the grave, so family could go on pretending for just a little while longer that this all just some terrible mistake. 

But once he has the death certificate in hand, all of those self-delusions have to be packed away.

Stephen stares out into the darkness, and tries to find something good about this day. 

Ian. That is a good thing. He can visit with an old friend, spend some time with Ian without the weight of grief and ceremony pressing down on them. Perhaps they could have a late lunch before he has to catch the train back to Bodmin, and maybe he’ll get an introduction to Harry’s protégé, too.

By the time Stephen has finished his coffee and has scrolled through the morning headlines on his phone, the station master announces the imminent arrival of the express to London.

The first class car is pretty much empty and Stephen finds his seat without a problem. He’s mostly asleep when the conductor comes by for his ticket and he’s just about reached full doze when his phone buzzes with an incoming text.

It’s from Ian. _Just checking that you’ll be in London this morning."_

Stephen replies, _Already on the train, should be at Paddington by 9:15, at the shop by 9:45. Tell the insurance people I’ll be very annoyed if they are late._

_I certainly will. Looking forward to seeing you_

_Me too_

Stephen puts away his phone and wonders why he didn’t suggest to Ian that they do the whole transaction at Coutts, but it’s probably too late to arrange that. Besides, it will be nice to see the shop again - it’s a link to his brother’s life that he shouldn’t let fade away. Stephen might be the Marquess Cardoc but he doesn’t live a life that needs bespoke suits. Except that Harry had loved those things, called them "the modern gentleman’s armor", and while Stephen might be more at home on the moors and farms that make up the estate, he does occasionally have social obligations. And Cicely does like to see him cleaned up on occasion.

Maybe one of the tailors can fit him in for a consultation this morning. Maybe Harry’s young protégé will be available.

Stephen sends a text to Ian, asking about the possibility and doesn’t worry when Ian doesn’t respond. He’ll see the man soon enough.

He spends the rest of the journey playing one of those addictively silly games that his children have installed on his phone. At least he remembered to put the power bank and charging cable in his briefcase, so he won’t have to worry about a dead phone for the return trip.

The train pulls into Paddington right on time and Stephen phones the house while he waits at the taxi stand.

Davis answers the phone, _"Cardoc Manor, how may I direct your call?"_

"Davis, it’s Lord Hart, is Lady Miriam or Lady Hart available?" Stephen sighs. He hates referring to himself like this. It’s been twenty years since his father died and he’ll never get used to it.

_"One moment, milord."_

A minute later, someone picks up an extension. _"Stephen?"_

It’s Cicely. "Made it to London, safe and sound. Just in queue for a taxi. Did the children get off to school all right?" Gwyn had been on the books to start at Winchester this past September, but given the state of the world, they had decided to keep him home and at the local school. Gwyn hadn’t been at all disappointed at the decision.

_"Angie was a little stroppy this morning, and Ellie wasn’t feeling well. Gwyn seemed a bit diffident, too. So I kept them all home. I thought it was for the best."_

The line moves quickly and Stephen gets into the waiting cab. "Hold one one moment, love." He gives the address to the cabbie, "Three Savile Row, please. Sorry - you were saying?"

_"I kept the children home - a mental health day they call it. Gwyn’s out with the horses, Angie and your mother are looking through old photo albums, and Ellie’s in bed with a heating pad and a new book."_

Stephen’s not so dim that he doesn’t get what’s wrong with his oldest child. "It’s a rough time for them, too. And I don’t like being away anymore than they like having me gone. If I have time, I’ll pick up a few things for them. And maybe something for you and mum."

Cicely laughs. _"You are so old fashioned, like some grand Victorian pater familias, coming back laden with gifts after a long voyage."_

Stephen feels himself blushing, "Well…"

_"We could all use a little spoiling, my love. Even you."_

"Perhaps."

_"I should let you go. Call me when you get on the train back home."_

"I will, and tell the children I will see them tonight, without fail. Love you."

_"Love you, too."_

Before Stephen puts his phone away, he sends another text to Ian, letting him know that he’s about ten minutes out, barring any major traffic tie-ups. The day, which had seemed pleasant and promising as the train travelled west, has turned grim and gray and by the time they’ve rounded Marble Arch, it’s spitting rain. Stephen’s mood plunges. He doesn’t want to be here, he could be home with his children, spending a few quiet hours with Gwyn in the stables, currying the elderly ponies, then sitting with his mother and Angie, looking at the old pictures of people he never knew, fetching tea for Ellie and getting kicked out of her room. But just being there.

This errand could have waited.

But he is in London and the cab is pulling up in front of Kingsman, and there is Ian bounding down the steps, an umbrella in hand. Stephen pays the fare and gets out, thinking that Ian will look like this for the next forty years - he has that ageless kind of face. Harry used to call it the best resting murder face in London, but Stephen doesn’t see that. He sees warmth and joy and welcome and that does wonders to shake the darkness of his mood. 

"Come, let’s get out of the rain." Merlin leads him inside. It’s too early for customers, but staff is getting ready for the day ahead. Stephen thinks he recognizes the head tailor, who clearly recognizes him. 

"Welcome to Kingsman, Lord Hart. May I take your coat?"

"Thank you," Stephen dredges up a name, "Andrew."

Which is apparently correct because the man smiles and nods before disappearing with his coat.

Ian gestures for him to head upstairs, where, hopefully, the insurance people are waiting. "Did you get my text? About a fitting? Maybe you could have Harry’s protégé do it? I figured, since I’m here and I haven’t had a new suit made in a while - "

They’re at the top of the staircase, in front of a closed door, and Ian has a very funny expression on his face. 

"What’s the matter? It’s no big deal if you can’t fit me in. I understand completely."

"It’s not that, Stephen. It’s - " Ian sighs. "I own you a bit of an apology. I’ve brought you to London under false pretenses."

"Excuse me?" Stephen can’t begin to imagine what is going on. "Don’t tell me that the insurance people have had to cancel, because if they have, I am going to go over to their office and give them a piece of my - "

Ian holds up his hand. "There is no insurance. I needed you to come to London and I couldn’t explain why. I needed to show you."

"What the fuck, Ian? You dragged me away from my family? This is a very hard time for all of us!" Stephen isn’t a man given to physical violence, but he’s about a heartbeat away from punching Ian in the face.

"And this might make things a lot better." Ian opens the door to what is clearly a boardroom. "Go in." He actually pushes Stephen across the threshold.

Confused and angry, Stephen doesn’t realize the room isn’t empty until someone clears his throat. He turns from Ian to confront whoever Ian dragged him all the way to London to meet.

Only to find himself face to face with his brother. With Harry. With his dead brother, Harry. Who is very much alive.

"What the fuck?" He’s frozen, this can’t be possible. "Jesus Christ - "

"You converted to Judaism, Stephen. You really need to stop saying that."

"Harry - Harry?" Stephen looks from his brother to Ian, who is grinning like a fool, and back to his brother. "It’s really you?"

"It is, asshole." The bastard is grinning like he used to when they were children and he'd found Stephen's stash of candy.

That breaks the dam and Stephen rushes at Harry, who meets him midway. Yes, this is his brother. A bit leaner than the last time they’d hugged, but it’s him. He’d know that scent, those ears, that touch, anywhere. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Kentucky. I was in a coma for most of the last year."

"Chester called me, he told me you were mugged, shot in the face, you died instantly." Stephen knows he’s babbling but he doesn’t care. He hugs Harry again, then pulls back and looks at his brother, taking in something he should have noticed right away. "Your eye!"

"I was shot, but I wasn’t killed. I don’t know why Chester told you that." Harry shakes his head. "Maybe he was given bad information. My client was killed, so maybe that’s what had happened? Maybe he was confused or given the wrong information."

Stephen pushes the conundrum aside. "Maybe. And you know the world went crazy a day later, right? Millions of people died. Some crazy megalomaniac - the one giving out the free cell phone service - was trying to cleanse the world. Ian saved our lives, by the way. He had heard something on some dark web chat group that sounded mighty specific and told us to get all of the cell phones on the estate locked away. After the dust settled, we tried to bring your body home but was told it was lost. I’d asked Ian if he could work some of his magic, and he found out that you’d been cremated."

"Apparently." Harry’s grin is pure mischief.

"Oh my god, your unveiling. It’s in little more than a week. What am I going to tell the rabbi?" Stephen starts to hyperventilate and Ian pushes him into a chair. 

Harry sits down next to him, holding his hand, petting it, trying to soothe him. "He’ll understand. And if he doesn’t, I’ll write him a check to cover his inconvenience."

Stephen stares at his brother, so familiar and unchanged - despite the darkened lens in his eyeglasses - so _alive_ , and bursts into tears.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	3. Chapter 3

There had been three things driving Harry’s return home, Kingsman, Eggsy, and his family, and if questioned, he couldn’t say which one was paramount. Right now, however, it would have to be his family. Seeing Stephen’s face as he recognized him, the pure joy dawning in his eyes, the strength of his brother’s arms around him so tightly, will be something Harry will hold in his heart and mind for the rest of his life.

He has never considered himself a sentimental man, not with the job he does, but in this moment, he is all emotion and he struggles to contain himself as Stephen weeps.

"It’s all right. Please, stop crying - you’re going to make me cry, too. And I don’t have an extra handkerchief."

Stephen sniffs and manages a watery grin. "Ian can get us some and charge them to his house account."

"The shop doesn’t carry handkerchiefs, only pocket squares," Harry says absently.

For some reason, that amuses his brother immensely and he bursts out laughing, only to start crying again. "Sorry, sorry." Stephen pats his pockets and comes up with his own handkerchief and wipes his eyes and nose." He lets out a huff, "Excuse me, but my brother doesn’t return from the dead every day so you’ll have to pardon the excessive emotion." 

Harry cups Stephen’s cheek. "Always. I have a feeling that this scene is going to be repeated several times over the next few days." Merlin own reaction ago had been gratifying and terrifying at the same time, and Harry still hasn’t seen Eggsy, who is on an undercover mission in Croatia. But of course, he’s thinking of his family - his mother, his sister-in-law, and his nieces and nephew.

"Ian’s told you that everyone’s all right - " Stephen spins around and looks at Merlin, who nods.

"Of course, that was the first thing I asked him."

"But why didn’t you come home? Why did you go to Ian first? Weren’t we important enough?" There’s so much hurt in Stephen’s voice, but Harry’s been expecting this question.

"You were, but I didn’t know what had happened to you or the family and I was scared to find out. When I got back to England, I thought it would be easier to find Ian - "

"How did you get back? Wasn’t your passport cancelled? Why didn’t you call the house? Or at least call Ian? Why all of the secrecy?" Stephen’s questions are accelerating like a speeding train towards a blown-up bridge.

"I was in a coma for months and when I finally woke up, my memory and my cerebral capabilities were - " Harry searches for the best word, "spotty. It took weeks before I could talk, before I could remember my name and where I was from. The hospital had misplaced my personal effects, and it took months to find them. I had just enough cash in my wallet for an economy ticket home. My back will never forgive me. But I came home as soon as I could, please believe me." 

The truth is that Harry had woken up with _most_ of his memory intact, but there was one critical bit of information missing. He couldn’t remember which alias he’d travelled under and what passport he’d used, and when he’d finally left the hospital, he’d had to steal a series of cars to get to a privately held safe house in suburban Baltimore where he’d kept cash and ID, including a Canadian passport that Kingsman had _not_ issued, to get himself home. He didn’t know whether Chester had managed to retain his grip on the agency and didn’t want to give anyone a heads up that he was still alive. Merlin was the only one he knew he could trust.

Stephen doesn’t notice that Harry hasn’t addressed the question about his passport, and seems to accept the answers Harry’s given. "All right, all right. I shouldn’t question this miracle, should I?"

"I wish I had been able to call you as soon as I woke up, but everything was so muddled. And then, when I learned what happened, I was afraid of what I’d find." Harry hates himself for lying like this, but he has spent the better part of a lifetime lying to his family, so this is a familiar feeling. He squeezes Stephen’s hand again, letting his control slip, letting Stephen feel him tremble.

"It doesn’t matter. I don’t care that you went to Ian first, all that matters is that you’re home and you’re alive and you’re well. Mother is going to be …" Stephen shakes his head, "Happy is such a banal word. What do you say when your child returns from the dead?"

"Well, I suspect she might slap me." Harry isn’t kidding.

"Oh she’ll definitely do that."

In the background, Merlin chuckles and tosses his two cents in. "Lady Miriam will give ye a perfect shiner, and probably ground ye for the rest of yer life, to boot."

"Well, it’s a risk I’ll have to take, unless I just plan on hiding out here in London for the rest of my life." Harry jokes

"And you don’t think that Mum won’t come up here and find you and kick your ass? Cicely, too? Not to mention my children? Don’t you understand?" Stephen goes from humor to deathly seriousness in a heartbeat. "Your death fractured us. There have been so many times, this past year when we have all just stopped and had to try to remember how to go through the motions."

"I’m sorry, Stephen. Please believe me." Harry thinks guiltily about all of the times that he’d nearly gotten killed in the field, never really giving a thought about his family and how they’d react to his death. 

"Well, all is forgiven. But you are coming home with me today, no arguments. I’d told Cicely that I’d bring her and the children some gifts - they’d been a little upset that I had to leave the estate. I can’t think of anything better than bringing them _you_."

Harry has no objections to going to Tintagel. He has arranged with Merlin to spend the rest of the year with his family before starting his new duties as Arthur in January. "Then let’s go." He looks over at Merlin. "The car should be here. Can you check?"

Merlin makes a pretense of looking at his phone. "Car is here and yer luggage has already been stowed."

"Car?" Stephen looks befuddled. "But I have a round-trip ticket back to Bodmin and my car is in the lot there."

Harry gives his brother a look. "I am not traveling back to Cornwall with a month’s worth of wardrobe to carry by rail. Besides, do you really want to spend four hours fighting off at least one more emotional outburst in public? I know I don’t. We can get your car tonight."

Stephen shakes his head. "You’re damn right I don’t. I’m likely to stare at you and start crying every fifteen minutes or so. Makes me wish for the days of private rolling stock, or at least private cabins."

"Then shall we?" Harry gets to his feet. He is both anticipating and dreading this trip. His family is important to him, but Kingsman is still paramount and after nearly a year away, taking yet another month off seems highly indulgent. But the look on Stephen’s face when he’d first seen him - that erases all doubts. Merlin can hold the fort for a little while longer, get all of the paperwork ready for the transition of power, and when he comes back, the change in leadership will be - _should be_ \- smooth sailing.

Harry lets Merlin and his brother precede him down the stairs, just to make sure there are no agents waiting in the shop who don’t know he’s back, but Andrew nods, giving him the all clear. He collects his coat, as does Stephen, and he heads out to the street. The Bentley he had brought out from HQ is waiting at the curb, and Stephen looks at him, a bit appalled. "Harry?"

He shrugs. "Nothing wrong with traveling in style and comfort."

"Well, I guess not. Mum will get a kick out of it when she sees it."

"True." 

The chauffeur, a Kingsman driver who is usually behind the wheel of one of the agency’s custom taxicabs, opens the passenger door, and Stephen gets in. Harry goes over to Merlin and simply says, "Thank you."

"Stay in touch, let me know how it goes and if ye need anything from me."

"Of course."

"I’ll see ye in January, old friend."

"Don’t say anything to Eggsy until I’m back, all right?"

"I don’t want to keep this a secret from the lad a second longer than I have to, so ye might have to get yer ass back here and deal with it if his mission winds down soon than planned. I would like him to be home for the holidays, give him a chance to spend some time with his family. I’m not keeping him in the field longer than I have to."

"Understood." Harry does understand. He gives Merlin a quick, tight hug and joins Stephen in the Bentley.

"Everything all right?"

Harry smiles. "Things are surprisingly complicated. I don’t know if Ian had mentioned, but I’d hired a young man several months before my 'death' - "

"Yes, Ian had mentioned it. He’d even asked if it would be possible to bring him to your unveiling, and of course I said yes."

That surprises Harry, given Eggsy’s current status, but Merlin might very well have planned to pull the boy out for forty-eight hours if the mission hadn’t been at a critical point. "Ah, good."

"So, what’s the problem?"

"Eggsy - "

"Eggsy? Ian said his name is Gary."

"Eggsy is his nickname, and I don’t think I’ve ever called him Gary. But anyway, Eggsy has taken over much of my client list and he’s traveling at the moment."

"So he doesn’t know you’re alive."

"No, he doesn’t, and I asked Ian not to say anything until I’m back in London. If Eggsy is home for the holidays, I may have to come back here for a day or two."

Stephen nods in understanding. "Of course, it wouldn’t be fair to keep your young friend in the dark a moment longer than necessary."

Harry relaxes. He hadn’t really expected Stephen to object, but it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

"Can I ask, what are your plans? I know it may seem like a weird question, given that you’ve just returned from the dead, but what will you do with the rest of your new-found life? You’re more than welcome to live with us at Cardoc, but somehow, I don’t think that will suit you long term."

Harry would love to tell his brother the truth about what he does, but that is a foolish fantasy. "No, I don’t think life in Cornwall will suit me. I need the city lights."

"I figured. So, you’ll go back to being a tailor? Take your client list back from your protégé?"

Harry can’t tell his brother the truth, but he can give him a version of it "Oh no, not at all. I’ve decided to buy the shop. I’m going to run the whole show now."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	4. Chapter 4

Stephen is certain Harry is lying. Not about the coma, or about his recovery, or even about his reason for not contacting his family when he had gotten his memory back, but about things that Stephen can’t quite put his finger on. Some parts of the story just don’t seem to fit, but Stephen isn’t going to start poking holes in Harry’s story. 

Just a few hours ago, he’d been thinking how much he’d been dreading this meeting with the insurance people, with seeing a copy of Harry’s death certificate - the indisputable proof that his brother was well and truly gone from this life - and now his brother is sitting next to him, alive and well, a miracle that should not be questioned.

"What are you thinking?" Harry kicks his ankle. "You’ve got that look on your face."

"What look?"

"Like you’re going to break wind or have a nervous fit."

"What are you, fourteen again?" Stephen bursts out laughing.

Harry actually smirks. "That’s better."

"What am I going to do with you?" He reaches out, grabs Harry, and gives him a noogie, just like when they were boys.

"Forgive me?"

"For what?"

Harry sighs. "For what happened. For all the times I didn’t make it home, for being careless about time and affection and forgetting what it means to be part of a family." Harry is now the one who looks like he’s about to cry.

"Of course." Stephen shakes his head. "Is there any question about that?"

"You were always the kinder brother, the sweeter one. I remember Papa telling you to toughen up, that you couldn’t afford to be so soft. That the world would take advantage of you."

"He meant well. Papa wasn’t … " Stephen searches for the right words, "like most of the men of his class. He genuinely cared about the world, about Cardoc as something more than a symbol of rank and privilege." Stephen had loved his father, and there isn’t a day that passes where he still doesn’t miss him.

"Mum never would have stayed with him if he was as asshole," Harry says with brutal frankness.

"That is true, she wouldn’t have put up with him if he’d be anything like the typical British peer. He might have told me to toughen up, but he was as much of a marshmallow as I am. Mum’s the tough nut. Like you." This isn’t some great revelation. Harry had always been more like their mother - cooly pragmatic and able to make difficult decisions with a clear head. Harry also has their mother’s temper - easy to flare and quick to inflict damage, but just as quick to die back and seek forgiveness.

"How is she?"

"Physically fine. Emotionally - well …" Stephen trails off. 

"I’m sorry."

"Stop apologizing. What happen wasn’t your fault. Mum’s held up well - at least I thought she’d been doing all right."

"But?"

"This morning, when I was leaving the house. It was early, and I found her sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and doing the crossword puzzle."

"So? Mum loves doing the puzzles, they keep her sharp."

"It was barely five-thirty, Harry. She was up and dressed, and when I asked her about it, she said she doesn’t need much sleep and gets up at that hour most days."

"Oh, that’s nothing new." 

"Wait, what?" Stephen looks at his brother like he’s grown a second head. "When did this start? And how do you know about it?"

"I’ve known for years. I came home one year right after a trip to Thailand, maybe fifteen years ago, and my body clock was all screwed up, couldn’t sleep at all. Found mum in the kitchen at five AM, fully dressed, drinking coffee, doing the crossword. She said she’d been getting up around four or five every day since papa had died. Sometimes we’d talk at odd hours when I was traveling and I wouldn’t have to worry about waking her up."

Stephen feels oddly resentful. "Still seems like maybe it’s something she might have told me."

Harry nods. "I didn’t know you didn’t know."

"She said that sometimes she doesn’t bother going to bed. I think that might be new."

"Could be. When was the last time she saw a doctor?"

Stephen thinks back. "About six months ago. I remember because the appointment had gotten accidentally rescheduled to Cicely’s birthday and mum wanted to reschedule it. She got a clean bill of health, but there’s more to good health than a working body, right?"

Harry nods slowly.

"Well, you’re back and that should fix things."

"That’s a heavy burden you’re putting on my shoulders.”

“You know what I mean, Harry. She’s been grieving. We all have. And it’s hard to say Kaddish when there are only three Jewish adults in Tintagel.”

“I’m sorry.”

“God damn it, stop apologizing. I’m trying to explain, not blaming you for something you had no control over.”

Harry makes a face. _That_ face. The one that always drives Stephen crazy. “You’re not so old, or so wounded, or so weak that I won’t tell the driver to pull over so I can give you a thrashing.”

“I’d like to see you try, with your beer gut.” Harry sniffs.

“I think I can manage, you just spent how many months in a coma?” As the words pop out of Stephen’s mouth, he realizes what he’s just said. “Shit, shit. I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry actually chuckles. “For the record, you still couldn’t take me, even now, with one missing eye and a body that hasn’t seen the inside of a gym in almost a year. Remember, I fight dirty. Always did, always will.”

Stephen remembers their epic fights, two headstrong teenagers, close in age, but with different temperaments, different expectations and personalities. There had been a time when their parents had despaired of them ever having anything close to a civilized relationship.

“How is Cicely?”

“Brilliant as always. The last book of the trilogy was published two months after - " Stephen rolls his eyes, “you died. She dedicated it to you, of course. It was a best seller here and in America. There’s talk about a movie option, but Cicely’s not sure she wants to go that route. Right now, she’s still able to maintain her privacy, but if there’s a movie, well who knows. Besides, she has a contract for another series of books and is steadily writing.” He knows this is really not what Harry’s asking about, but it’s easier to take refuge in the details of day to day life. “She’s been grieving, too. Sometimes I’ll walk into a room and see her staring out of the window, and she’ll look at me and just shake her head. We didn’t see you every day, or talk with you every week, but you were such a part of our lives. Your were gone so suddenly, and then there was this terrible global tragedy - it became hard to separate.” 

Harry opens his mouth and Stephen knows just what he’s about to say. "If you apologize one more time, I swear, I will definitely ask the driver to stop. And I’ll have him hold you while I bitch slap you into next week."

"All right, all right. My heart hurts for your pain. For mum’s, for Cicely’s. For the children’s. They are all right?"

Stephen doesn’t answer right away. This is the hardest question to answer.

"Stephen?" 

"Ellie and Angie are fine. Although about half the time, Angie wants to be called Harry, which is a bit of a problem at school. She gets teased and stands her ground, but comes home and wants to be called Angie again. Ellie is brilliant, very much her mother’s daughter. Gwyn - " Stephen doesn’t know what to say about his son.

"What’s wrong?"

"Part of me wants to say that Gwyn’s a teenager and he’s just going through a rough patch, but that wouldn’t be fair. He’s still smart and sweet and loving, but I feel like I’m losing him. His two best friends were killed in the rage, and so were three other classmates. Gwyn’s always been quiet, but now he’s as solemn a monk. He prefers to spend his time on the moors, or in the barns or the stables. I try to reach him but he pulls way, and I’m afraid if I push, I’ll only force him even further away. He was supposed to start at Winchester in September, but we kept him home. Sending him away felt like the worst thing we could do, and Gwyn didn’t object at all. Cicely has wondered if it might even be better to home school him, let him heal. I worry that it would be too isolating."

"Have you thought about therapy? Grief counseling?"

"Of course. We took all of the children to a counselor in Exeter last year. Angie and Ellie went for a few weeks and said they were done, and the doctor agreed. Gwyn was resistant and the doctor was frank, he had too many patients to keep one on the books who wouldn’t say a word the entire session."

"Doesn’t sound like a very good doctor. Or one who should still have his license."

"Mother and Cicely said the same thing, but doctors like that are not exactly thick on the ground in Cornwall. I’ve been researching specialists, but all of the reputable ones are in London and booked months out. I’ve even tried flexing the title. It hasn’t worked."

“Maybe I have some connections to pull. You might not be able to get past the dragons at the front desk, even with the title, but I can call in a few favors personally. It would mean bringing Gwyn up to London for appointments, though.”

“We will do whatever we need to do. And when we’re done, we can stop by the shop and see you.”

Harry nods, “Of course. I would be hurt if you didn’t.”

The miles pass easily in and when the conversation lapses, Stephen uses the opportunity to just observe his brother. It’s clear that Harry knows he’s being watched from the way he’s keeping his head turned, from the tiny smile on his lips.

The silence is comfortable, though, and eventually Stephen finds himself getting a little drowsy. In fact, he doesn’t realize he’s called asleep until he wakes up when the car has stopped and he’s hit with a faceful of sunshine.

“What? Where are we? What’s happened?”

“Everything’s fine. I’ve just asked the driver to stop. We’re about halfway, just outside of Amesbury. I wanted to stretch my legs and get a cup of coffee.” Harry gets out of the car.

Stephen joins him and revels in the different a few hundred kilometers makes. When they’d left London, it had been chilly and wet, gray as any late November day should be. But here, the sun is out and the bright blue sky is decorated only by a few high, drifting clouds, and it could be late April, it’s so warm. But that is typical for the peninsula, catching the tropical currents and making Cornwall far more temperate than the rest of England.

The driver takes off for the men’s loo and Stephen follows Harry into the service center and buys them each a cup of terrible coffee. “This feels rather surreal.”

“I know what you mean.” Harry tilts his head back and basks in the sunshine. 

“I will probably wake up tomorrow and find out this was all a dream.”

“No. Absolutely not. This is not a dream. This is a real as it gets.” Harry reaches out and pinches his hand, hard. 

“Ow, fuck. Well, all right. I’m not sleeping. But you do have to admit this is not normal.”

“No, of course not.” Harry takes another sip of coffee, looks at the cup in disgust and heads over to a waste bin to dispose of it. Stephen does the same. The driver has returned and they are back on the road.

"So, how do you want to do this?" 

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want to just bring me into the house and let everyone fall over me like the returning prodigal son."

"Well, it would be appropriate," Stephen teases. "You did consort with prostitutes and squander your inheritance."

"Very funny, brother." 

Stephen has never enquired too deeply into Harry’s personal life. His brother has never mentioned any romantic attachments and for years, he had speculated that his brother was gay but had been to embarrassed or afraid to say anything. When Ian had casually come out during a visit during his first year at Uni, Stephen had waited for Harry to make a similar announcement; he’d even hoped that Harry might even make a go of it with Ian. He’d waited and hoped in vain. 

Cicely had speculated that Harry was simply uninterested in relationships of the romantic sort, content with his life as a bachelor, with his friendships and his travels. Stephen had thought that would be a great waste. Everyone deserves love, to have someone to cling to in the middle of the night when the monsters get to frightening to face alone.

"Well?"

Harry’s question brings him back to the problem at hand. "Hmm. Well, you could just walk in to the front parlor like it’s an ordinary afternoon and you’re decided to pop in for a visit, out of the blue? But I think that might be a bit much."

"I was thinking of telling Cicely first, then mum. Then the children. Mostly because Cicely will be able to keep mum from beating me black and blue."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	5. Chapter 5

Miriam wraps her coat a little tighter around her and listens to her grandchildren run up and down the beach, daring the surf like modern incarnations of King Canute. 

"Are you warm enough, mama?" Her daughter-in-law fusses a bit with the lap rug.

"I’m fine. And it is a lovely day out. Hard to believe it’s nearly the end of November, that winter is almost here."

Cicely sighs and rests her head on Miriam’s shoulder for a moment. "Time moves, whether we want it to or not."

"Can’t hold back the sea, can’t hold back time."

"Wasn’t that a song?"

"Maybe." Miriam recalls a bit of a lyric from her youth. _If I could save time in a bottle…_ This would be a day she would like to save, with the bright sunshine and the clean air and the children’s laughter. "I’m glad you kept them home today. They needed a day off."

"I think we all did." Cicely reached for the thermos she’d packed in the picnic hamper. "I wish Stephen were here, too. That would make the day perfect." 

Miriam takes the cup of tea her daughter in law has poured for her, sipping it slowing. It’s sweet with honey and lemon, more like candy than tea, but it warms her soul. "He promised to be home tonight."

"And he will. There’s nothing to keep him in the city."

"He hates being away from here."

"Stephen is a good steward of the land." Cicely sips from her own cup. "It’s not such an easy thing to be these days."

"His father would be proud of him. I am proud of him." An ache rises in Miriam’s throat. She was always proud of her boys. They’d taken such different paths - roads set upon them by birth, not by choice. _Harry … Oh, God. Harry._

Miriam sets the cup down and fishes for a handkerchief. "I promised I wouldn’t cry anymore. And it’s such a beautiful day."

Cicely drapes an arm over her shoulders. "Don’t be sorry, there is nothing to be sorry for. Harry was your son, and your loss is too easy to imagine." Cicely shakes her head. "I lie awake at night and think, what if Ian hadn’t called? What if we’d scoffed at his warnings? He works in a tailoring shop! How could he know these things? But you insisted we listen, despite our grief for Harry. You made everyone give up their phones and put them in the ice house, Stephen went into town and for the first time in his life, played lord of the manor and got everyone to do the same. He _paid_ people to do. And they listened. But that was just Tintagel. Up and down the coast, parents and children did such terrible things to each other. You lost your son, you are allowed to grieve."

Miriam lets out a shuddering sigh, and sniffles a bit, wiping her nose. "I know, I know. I want to be happy for the blessings I have now." She looks at her daughter in law. "I have you, the daughter of my heart. You make my son so happy. You have given me three beautiful grandchildren." Miriam turns to the sound of the three young Harts playing against the surf. "I just miss my son."

"Of course you do. I miss Harry, too."

Miriam relaxes against Cicely. "Gwyn looks like he’s having a good time."

"Mmm, yes, he does. Today is a good day for him/"

She can hear the worry in Cicely’s voice. "He needs therapy, darling. He can’t hide here for the rest of his life. Cardoc is a good place, but he does need to spend time out in the world. He needs a bit of armor."

"I know. Stephen and I have talked about it. We are going to have to push with Gwyn, and we’re going to have to do work ourselves. We’ve let the world flow past us, taken the path of least resistance because it’s been easier than confronting the monsters. We’ll start interviewing therapists in January, and if we have to go up to London once or twice a week, that’s what we’ll do. Whatever it takes."

Miriam feels the buzz of a cell phone - it’s Cicely’s - and she resents the loss of her daughter-in-law’s warmth as she pulls away. 

"It’s Stephen, I hope he’s calling to tell me he’s on his way home."

Miriam watches Cicely’s faces as she answers, the unaffected joy at hearing her husband’s voice. The call is brief and Cicely jumps down from the pony cart. "Stephen’s home! He says he’s brought a wonderful surprise that he wants to share with me first, and that he’s waiting at the top of the cliff. Give me about twenty minutes and then have Gwyn take you and the girls back to the house."

"I’m guessing he didn’t give you a hint about what the surprise is."

"Only that I would never be able to guess, but that it is the most wonderful thing ever, and we would all be overjoyed with it."

Miriam makes a shooing motion. "Go, go. Go be surprised and give your husband a welcome home kiss. I’ll watch the children and we’ll be back at the house in a half-hour or so."

Cicely skips off, then runs, heading to the staircase cut into the cliff. Once upon a time, Miriam had that same boundless energy. These days, she prefers to travel by pony cart when coming down to the beach, by the long, winding track laid down by some long-ago Hart ancestor. Or maybe by the last Cardoc king himself.

The sun has shifted, leaving Miriam and the cart in the shade, and it’s now downright chilly. Rather than curse the cold, she gets down, pats the old pony and heads towards the beach and her grandchildren. Gwyn spots her approach and meets her halfway.

"Everything okay, grandma? Where’s mum?"

Miriam tucks her arm in Gwyn’s. "She got a call from your papa." She can feel Gwyn stiffen in alarm. "Everything is fine. He’s already back from London, and says that he’s brought us a wonderful surprise, but wanted to share it with her first."

Gwyn relaxes. "Good, that’s good."

"Aren’t you curious?"

"If papa says it’s wonderful, it will be," Gwyn says diffidently.

Miriam’s heart breaks. At fourteen, Gwyn should still be eager for surprises. "Maybe it’s a puppy?"

"I don’t think so. That would mean that papa bought one from a pet store and mum was pretty firm about that. You know how she feels about pet store animals. Besides, she still hasn’t made up her mind about what breed, even. Papa wouldn’t be so foolish to just get a puppy without her say-so."

"Well, that is true. But your papa sometimes does foolish things."

"Not this." Gwyn is adamant about that. "And getting a puppy just before the unveiling? When there are going to be strangers in the house? No way, grandma."

"When did you get to be so smart?"

Gwyn shrugs. "Just common sense."

A mass of clouds briefly obscures the sun, then breaks apart and a beam of light hits the sand in front of Miriam and Gwyn. An enormous gull lands, spreading its wings and screaming. It might be a trick of the light, but one eye seems to be bright orange and the other a pale blue that it’s nearly white. Miriam shivers.

"A messenger of the gods, Gwyn. It will carry your hopes and dreams back to the heavens."

Her grandson looks at her, shocked. "This isn’t one of mama’s novels."

"Tell the gull your heart’s desire, maybe it will come true." Miriam has always loved folklore, has always wished that magic was real. She gives Gwyn a little push, "Go on, tell it."

The boy drops to his knees and the gull doesn’t move. The light grows stronger and the breeze dies away. Miriam can still hear Ellie and Angie playing their game, but she also hears her heartbeat - or maybe the pulsing beat of the universe - as Gwyn whispers something too low for her to make out.

With a flap of its enormous wings, the gull takes off and disappears into the bright sky. Gwyn gets to his feet and shakes his head. "I feel silly."

Miriam hugs him. "Nothing to feel silly about. "

"Aren’t you going to ask me what I wished for?"

It would be easy to tell Gwyn that the wish would be spoiled in the telling, but it is so clear that her grandson wants her to know. "What did you ask for?"

Gwyn pauses for a heartbeat, and stares out at the surf. "I want to be able to be happy again. To not be afraid all of the time."

"That is a good wish." Miriam vows to do everything possible to help make that happen.

The girls finally notice that Cicely has left the beach and they come running, demanding an explanation, and Gwyn explains. "Papa’s home, he said he’s brought back something wonderful from London and wanted to show it to mum first."

Angie, of course, insists that it’s a puppy, and Ellie shoots her down with the same reasoning that Gwyn had given Miriam.

"Let’s go back to the house and find out, shall we?" Miriam herds the children back to the pony cart and lets Gwyn take the reins. It’s a slow ride back, with almost a dozen switchbacks up the cliff, but the pony is surefooted and strong, and Gwyn has a good hand on the reins. Jock, the stable master, meets them in the forecourt and nods approvingly when the children jump down and offer to help unhitch and groom, despite their excitement to get to the house.

He shoos them off, "Go on, the day I can’t handle one pony and her cart is the day I need to go to the glue factory myself." 

Gwyn lingers, whether out of a sense of duty or fear or reluctance, Miriam isn’t sure. Angie, though, isn’t having any of that, and grabs her brother’s arm. "Come on, come on. Let’s go see what papa’s brought us."

Miriam smiles at her grandchild; her eagerness is infectious. She can’t begin to imagine what delight Stephen has brought home, but she’s certain that it will be wonderful. The children pause at the kitchen doorway to exchange their sand-coated wellies for indoor shoes, empty their pockets, and to wash up. 

"Look what I found, grandma!" Angie holds out a piece of blue sea glass. "Ellie said this is magical, that it’s a gift from a mer-prince,"

Miriam nods. Today seems to be a day for wondrous things. "It is, and keep it safe. Some day, that prince might come to you and need it back."

Angie giggles, but carefully puts the piece of sea glass in her pocket, patting it three times to make sure it stays put.

With everyone cleaned up, it’s time to find Stephen and Cicely and this amazing surprise. As they pass through the kitchen, Miriam realizes that the cook is nowhere to be found, which is strange this late in the afternoon. But then Cicely comes running and although her eyes are red-rimmed and her nose looks like it’s just fought a battle with a handkerchief, she’s smiling like the happiest of new brides.

“There you are!”

Angie runs to meet her mother. “Papa’s home? Grandma said he’s brought us the most amazing present.”

“He has!”

“A puppy?” Angie clearly has a one-track mind.

“Better than a puppy, I promise.”

“A kitty?”

“Even better, and you know we can’t have kitties. You are allergic.” Cicely bops her daughter on the nose.

Angie’s face falls. “I can hold my breath a long time.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Papa didn’t bring a puppy or a kitten from London for us, and we’re not going to find out what he _did_ bring if we stand here guessing about it for the rest of eternity.”

Cicely catches Miriam’s eyes, and there is so much joy there. Whatever Stephen has brought home must be truly amazing. She follows her family to parlor and is surprised that the door is closed. She’s even more surprised when Cicely pulls her forward, in front of the children. 

"Darling?"

"Mama, this is - " Cicely cuts herself off. "No words are really necessary. Let me show you." She throws open the parlor doors.

And there, standing next to the fireplace is someone Miriam had never thought she’d ever see again. Her son, Harry. Tall and beautiful and very much alive.

She stands there, stunned. How is this possible?

The children push past her, eager to see the surprise, and like her, they stand there, crowded in the doorway, struck dumb at the sight of a dead man smiling at them.

Miriam is shaken to the core. God doesn’t answer prayers like this.

"Mum?"

Miriam moves slowly, and the children step away. "Harry?"

Her son comes to her and it’s as if he’s awaiting judgment. She asks God, "What is the price of this miracle?"

Harry answers, "No miracle, just a series of terrible mistakes." He reaches out for her and she lets him wrap her in his arms.

"Someone’s going to need to call the stonemason." Miriam pulls herself free. "And the rabbi, and everyone who is coming to an unveiling that isn’t necessary anymore."

Cicely answers, "Don’t worry, mama, I’ll be delighted take care of that."

Miriam nods absently at her daughter-in-law, unable to take her eyes off of her son. She doesn’t know what else to say. Grief has been a constant companion for so many months, it is impossible to accept the reality standing in front of her.

Harry gives her a bit of a quirky smile, like he’s twelve and has just been found doing something vaguely naughty. "Do you want to smack me?"

"You’re too tall for me to reach." Miriam _would_ like to slap Harry silly, just for this ridiculous drama.

"I can kneel, if that will help."

Miriam sighs and sits on the sofa. "I prayed that the news of your death was a mistake, that that _gonif_ , Chester, had lied. I prayed that the authorities in America had made a mistake, that you were in a hospital, that you weren’t dead. But then that terrible rage happened, and so many people were died, and when Stephen tried to get your body home, Ian said that there was no mistake, and that they had cremated you because there were too many bodies, they could not keep them or bury them." 

“It was a mistake, and I don’t know why Chester was so quick to tell you that I was dead. I was shot and in surgery when the rage happened. I was in a coma for months afterwards, and when I finally came out of it, my memory and brain function were spotty. It wasn’t until they found my personal effects that everything snapped back into place.”

“Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you let us know you were alive?” Miriam asks, angry at her son and his propensity for unnecessary drama. 

“Because I didn’t know what had happened and I was too frightened to try to find out from halfway across the world.”

“You went to Ian’s first?”

“Yes. I knew he’d never have one of those cellphones. We’d talked about them, about how Valentine must be doing something nefarious with them. Ian thought that it was a privacy thing, but he didn’t think that they could be used to incite people to murder. But I guess he figured it out at the last moment.”

From across the room, Gwyn says, “My two best friends were killed by their parents because of those things. Peter’s dad choked him to death and Bobby’s mum stabbed him. Papa made everyone in the Manor put their phones in the ice house and then went into town and tried to get everyone there to do the same thing. Papa saved a lot of lives.”

Cicely hushes Gwyn, but Harry turns to the boy. "Your father was a hero that day. I’m very proud to be his brother."

Gwyn bites his lip and stands a little taller, looking up at his father with something like awe.

Harry turns back to her. "Mum, I came home as soon as I could. I thought that bringing Stephen to London so he could bring me home would be the kindest way to do this. If that was wrong, please forgive me."

"No, no." Miriam lets out a heavy sigh and looks at Harry. "How can I be anything but overjoyed that you’re alive?"

"You seem angry." Harry sits next to her, but she feels that he’d kneel at her feet like a penitent.

"No. Just stunned." She leans over and cups her hand against her son’s cheek. "You did not escape unscathed. May I see?"

Harry nods and takes off his glasses. The blacked-out lens hides so much damage. Scar tissue and sunken flesh where his eye used to be. Miriam can see that there had been some attempt to minimize the worst of the scarring, but without the eye, the flesh falls in on itself.

"It’s hideous."

"It’s an acceptable trade for your life, my son." There is so much Miriam wants to say, but she can’t, not with the rest of the family here.

"May I see, too?" Gwyn asks, and to Miriam’s surprise, his parents don’t shush him

Harry nods and the boy walks around the sofa. Miriam can’t see Gwyn’s face, but his posture is as stiff as a soldier going into battle.

"Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes, and I do get the most terrible headaches. My hands shake, too."

"Were you afraid?"

"Yes." Harry puts his glasses back on. "And sometimes I still am."

"I’m afraid, all the time."

"Then maybe we can learn how to deal with our fears together. How to not let them control us."

Gwyn nods and throws himself at Harry, and that is a signal for the children to rush at their uncle, clamoring for hugs, too.

Miriam lets Harry have his reunion and goes over to Stephen and Cicely. Her heart is full of happiness, but she can’t help but say wryly, "Definitely a wonderful surprise, although I suspect that Angie might still have preferred a puppy."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	6. Chapter 6

It’s a little after five when Harry finally gives up trying to sleep. His homecoming had been as wonderful as he’d imagined when Merlin had told him that his family was alive and well, though still grieving deeply for him. It is a triumph, he supposes, that is mother didn’t slap him as he’d expected. Miriam Rothschild Hart has a legendary temper, and although she’d never lifted a hand to either of him or Stephen when they were boys, there were times, as adults, when they’d felt her wrath - and the palm of her hand across their cheeks.

Which brings to mind Harry’s own temper and the apology that he is going to have to make. Merlin has assured him that Eggsy will be quick to forgive him his ugly words, but Harry isn’t sure he deserves such ready forgiveness. He’d had been downright evil to the boy in his own disappointment, when he should have realized that Eggsy could no more commit an act of violence against a defenseless animal than he could lift a hand against his sister or his mother. Especially when Chester is the one telling him to do so.

That bridge will be crossed soon enough.

Harry gets out of bed and gets his day started. If his mother holds true to form, she should be downstairs by now and perhaps they could have a private conversation. He finds her in her usual place, the kitchen table, with a cup of coffee and yesterday’s Times. She looks up, scans him from head to toe, but only says, "Good morning. Coffee’s made, you can help yourself."

"Thanks."

Harry pours a mug, add a splash of cream and tops up his mother’s cup. He doesn’t take a seat at the table, instead choosing to stand near the Aga and let the warmth seep into his bones.

"Ten letter word for 'secret-keeper training', first letter is 't'."

Harry sips his coffee and thinks for a moment. "Tradecraft?"

"Hmm, that works."

Feeling a little hungry, Harry looks for something to go with the coffee, something to hold him until breakfast will be served in a few hours. He finds a tin of biscuits.

"Here’s another long one, also ten letters. 'Under-cover, fifth letter is 'd'."

Harry doesn’t even have to think about that one. "How about 'clandestine'?"

"Very good. Last one - three letters, 'special agent'. Oh, wait, I’ve solved it on crosses. It’s 'spy'." His mother puts her pen down, folds her hands and looks at him, one eyebrow arched and the slightest smirk on her lips.

Harry’s stomach drops.

"I think there is something you need to tell me."

Harry stares at the biscuit tin in his hands, at an utter loss for words.

"How about I make it easy on you, although God know, I shouldn’t. I know you aren’t a tailor - although I suspect you can pass for one if you have to. Your father and I found your choice of careers odd when you left the Army, and were puzzled about how you ended up in a high-end outfit like Kingsman without the least bit of training. Your father asked a few discreet questions and it turns out that one of his old friends, the Duke of Oxford, knew quite a bit about Kingsman. Apparently his great-grandfather was a founder of your 'independent intelligence agency'." His mother makes air-quotes around those last three words. 

"So you’ve always known, but you’ve never said anything? Why?"

His mother gives him a withering look. "What should I have said?"

Harry puts the tin on the table and shrugs. "I don’t know. You’ll have to excuse me, but I’m just a bit blindsided by this."

"I am proud of you, you know. So was your father. We never thought that the military had been a good choice for you. You were always too headstrong, you needed to go your own way. The military requires too much groupthink and conformity. I was frankly surprised you made it out of basic training."

"Thanks, mum."

"Seriously, Harry. You’ve never been very good at taking orders."

"Yes, that is true."

"So, what really happened to you? And don’t fob me off with some bullshit about you can’t tell me because it’s classified. That only applies to government service."

Harry has to admit that his mother is still the sharpest knife in the box. "I was sent to investigate Richmond Valentine’s activities in Kentucky and while I was there, he launched a small-scale test of his rage devices. I survived the mayhem, only to get shot in the face by Valentine himself."

"Why was Chester King so sure you were dead?"

Harry taps his eyeglasses. "There are cameras in these, and he was watching. Chester had sold out the agency. He set me up."

"If that bastard wasn’t dead already, I’d kill him myself."

"I understand he died in a most painful and humiliating fashion."

"Good. May he rot." His mother takes a sip of her coffee and Harry can see her hands shaking. "How much of your story is true?"

"About where I’ve been for the past year? Almost all of it. I really was a John Doe in a coma in a hospital in Kentucky until early June. I didn’t get my memory back in full until late September, and wasn’t able to leave the hospital under my own power until a few weeks ago. Given what happened, and what I do, you have to understand why I couldn’t just walk back into Kingsman, or come back here and put everyone at risk. I had to make sure it was safe."

"And that meant going to Ian first."

"Yes."

"Who is also a spy. You recruited him."

"He works for Kingsman, but not in the same capacity that I do." Harry’s quick to divert the conversation away from him. "And I hear that you were the one who told Stephen to listen when Ian called before V-Day happened. Now I understand why."

"Yes, well." Miriam shakes her head. "I often wished I did not know the truth of what you do."

"Ignorance being bliss?"

"Exactly. But this year would have been so much harder believing you’d died in some random act of violence instead of trying to save the world. You might infuriate me, I might be terrified by your choice of vocation, but I am so very proud of you, Harry. Don’t ever doubt that." 

"Well, I won’t be going out into the field anymore." Harry isn’t sure that he fully regrets that. He hadn’t lied to Gwyn about being afraid.

"So, you really aren’t buying the shop?"

"Well, it’s not something that can be purchased. I’ve been asked to take up the reins of the organization. The biggest risk I’ll be facing will be an infected paper cut."

His mother laughs, a little bitterly. "Well, that is a relief. I’m afraid to ask what other scars you’re hiding under those clothes."

"Less than you might think."

Miriam gives him a skeptical look.

"I am very good at what I do." _And Kingsman has excellent plastic surgeons on staff_.

"If they are putting you in charge, I guess you are."

"Actually, it’s more to save Ian’s sanity. He’s been running the agency and doing his regular job since Chester was killed, and resources have been stretched a bit thin after what had happened." Harry has to wonder at his own lack of discretion, but if his mother has kept her knowledge of his true profession secret even from him for nearly thirty years, then he can certainly trust her with a few vague details.

"And your protégé? Ian had wanted to bring him down for your unveiling."

"You’ll like him. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but brilliant and kind. He’s also the one who’d actually stopped Valentine, according to Ian."

"I had wanted Gwyn to meet him. I’d hoped that maybe he could tell the boy something about you, give him something to find strength in, to take courage in. I’m glad it’s not necessary. You’ll be able to reach him."

"I hope so. But he needs professional help, mum. I’ve already talked with Stephen about this. I have connections, and Stephen is willing to bring Gwyn to London every week."

"We’ll do what needs to be done."

"What needs to be done?" Stephen wanders into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and bed-headed. He grabs a cup and empties the last of the coffee into it.

"We’re just talking about Gwyn, darling. And what are you doing up at this unholy hour? You hate getting up before the sun rises." Miriam asks.

Stephen chugs down the coffee and stares at Harry. "Wanted to make sure it really wasn’t a dream. That you really aren’t dead."

"Nope. I’m still alive and kicking."

"Good." The caffeine does its work and his brother remembers his manners. "Good morning, mum. Morning, Harry. Sleep well?"

The conversation falls into the familiar and normal patterns that warms Harry to the core. He makes another pot of coffee, and as it brews, Cicely joins them and a few minutes later, the cook arrives. She greets everyone with a gruff good morning, but there’s a bit of a twinkle in her eye when she looks over at Harry.

"Suppose ye’ll be wantin’ breakfast laid out a bit earlier this morning? Seein’ that ye’re all up?"

Cicely answers for all of them. "That would be lovely, Mrs. Tremartin. I expect the children will be down soon enough, even though it is Saturday."

"Verra well then. If ye’ll be letting me get to work?" Mrs. Tremartin sniffs and glares at the assembled Harts taking up too much space in her domain. 

Miriam gets to her feet, "Your arm, Harry. You can escort me to the morning parlor."

He does as requested and his mother tucks her hand into his elbow. Through the layers of cardigan and shirt, Harry can feel just how fragile his mother is, and conversely, how immensely strong she is, too.

He leans down and rests his cheek on her head, too conscious of everything he might have lost and says a silent prayer of thanks to God and circumstance and his parents’ well-meaning, low-key interference with his life so many years ago.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	7. Chapter 7

Eggsy gets home three days before Christmas, grateful to be able to spend the holidays with his mum and sister. Yesterday afternoon, his handler had sent him a message to wrap up his surveillance of the Russian spy ring trying to make inroads into the Bosnian government and get his ass home pronto, and Eggsy had done just that. He’d caught the overnight train from Sarajevo to Paris, and from there, the Eurostar to London. It’t hard to board a commercial flight when you’re carrying enough weaponry and ammo to take down an entire battalion of air marshals, and Merlin ain’t sending a Kingsman jet to fetch his ass home from a routine surveillance mission.

It’s a little after nine AM when his train pulls into St. Pancras, and as much as he would have loved to head over to his mum’s house in Bloomsbury for a few hours of shuteye, Merlin will likely have his ass if he doesn’t report right away for his debriefing. Dougal, his handler, had told him that he needs to report to HQ without fail. So Eggsy drags himself to the shop, greets Andrew with a barely disguised yawn and lets himself into Fitting Room One for a ride on the slowest elevator in England. Thankfully, there is no one waiting on the train platform, requiring him to make polite conversation, and the shuttle arrives within a few minutes.

Eggsy dozes as the high-speed train heads out of London, waking only when the car pulls to a stop. He’s surprised to find Elaine, Merlin’s administrative assistant, waiting for him at the platform.

"What’s the problem?" Eggsy’s anxiety immediately ratchets up to twelve. He’s never seen Elaine outside the confines of the executive offices. She doesn’t even go down to Merlin’s suite in the tech department.

"There’s no problem, Galahad. Arthur doesn’t want you to get distracted on your way upstairs; you need to do your debriefing right away. There’s a lot on his plate today and he can’t afford to fall behind because you got chatty."

"Ahh, gotcha." Eggsy falls into step next to her. Elaine has always intimidated Eggsy, she’s fiercely competent like Roxy, but without the warmth and friendliness. He guesses that it isn’t Elaine’s job to be friends with the agents.

Elaine practically marches double-time to Arthur’s office, not giving Eggsy a second to stop and say hello to anyone.

"I’ve delivered Agent Galahad, as requested, sir."

Merlin - who Eggsy can never really think of as Arthur when he isn’t in a Kingsman suit - looks up from the pile of papers strewn across his desk. He looks frazzled, but there’s something else in his expression that makes Eggsy wonder at what’s going on.

"Thank ye, Elaine. Get yerself a cup of whatever and have a seat, Galahad."

Eggsy fixes himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the sideboard and offers to refill Merlin’s. "Thank ye, but no. Already had enough to light up the Gherkin."

The debriefing goes smoothly, there is no reason why it shouldn’t. The mission had been a "watch and wait" job, with any specific instructions to keep a low profile unless the people he’d been watching escalated their own roles.

"Am I going back there?"

"No, I think we’ll turn this data over to MI-6 and let them run with it. There are better uses for ye - and for Kingsman."

Eggsy’s relieved. Sarajevo is an interesting city, but endlessly tailing a bunch of Russian spies without getting recognized grows old after the second week.

"So, what’s next?" Eggsy hope it’s a few days off because he’s exhausted and is having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

Merlin doesn’t answer right away. And he gets that weird look on his face again. Even stranger, he gets up and goes to the sideboard and reaches for the bottle of Scotch, pouring them both hefty measures.

"Bruv, I’ve only been a Kingsman for about a year, haven’t really had a chance to work on my day drinking skills."

"Take it, Galahad, ye’ll need it."

Eggsy grabs the glass shoved in his hand, but puts on on the desk. He’s never been the kind to face down bad news with alcohol. "What’s wrong? Something happen to JB? To my mum? Daisy?"

Merlin shakes his head and actually smiles. "Sorry, it’s nothing bad, actually, it’s very good. And I shouldn’t be so cryptic, but what I have to say is kind of hard to spit out. God knows I’ve had plenty of practice by now, but telling ye is probably the hardest one of all."

Eggsy can’t make heads or tails out of what Merlin’s trying to say. Maybe he’s just too tired. "What do you mean?"

Merlin downs half the Scotch in his glass, sighs, then drinks the rest of it before putting the empty tumbler on his desk with an emphatic _thunk_. "Well, instead of faffing about, how about I just tell ye."

"Tell me what?"

Merlin smiles, and it’s not a scary thing. Or well, it’s scary because the smile is kind of soft and a bit awestruck. "Harry’s alive."

Eggsy blinks. He couldn’t have heard that right. "Wha?"

"Ye heard me properly. Harry Hart is alive and well and can’t wait to see ye."

A part of Eggsy wants to demand to be taken to Harry immediately, but another part - the one that’s spent the last year developing a very health sense of paranoia and professional skepticism needs a few questions answered first. "How did you find him?"

"More the matter, he found me. The evening after ye left for yer mission, I got an unexpected visitor at my door. It was Harry. He came to my flat because he didn’t know what had happened with Kingsman, and didn’t want to risk running into Chester or any of Chester’s partisans and getting shot on sight."

Eggsy nods, that’s something he can understand. Harry must have realized at some point that Chester had betrayed him. But he has another question. "Are you certain it’s really Harry?"

"And not a surgically constructed and engineered fake? Well. apart from DNA and fingerprints and retinal scans, the man who was at my door knew things that only Harry Hart would know."

Eggsy can’t help it, he has to ask, even though he suspects Merlin will shut him down right quick. "Such as?"

But Merlin doesn’t shut him down. "Every holiday season since we were at uni, I’ve given Harry a bottle of the shittiest whisky ever made, and about twenty-five years ago, he figured out something very creative to do with it. It’s not something that he’d have ever told anyone else, so that’s what I asked to make certain it was really him."

"What did - does Harry do with the shittiest whisky ever made?" It takes some effort for Eggsy to switch his thinking back to the present tense.

"I would have it decanted into empty bottles of very rare and extremely expensive vintages of brandy and give them to Chester as Christmas presents." 

Merlin isn’t pleased. "Harry, ye always have to be such a fucking peacock? Couldn’t ye let me wait and finish telling Eggsy what happened?"

Eggsy rushes to his feet, clumsy in his haste. "Harry, it’s really you?"

"It certainly is."

Eggsy stands there, not sure what to do or say. He wants to run to Harry, wrap his arms around him and make sure he’s real, then sit him down and tell him everything that he’s accomplished since he died.

Or didn’t die.

But he can’t move. All he can think of is the argument they had before Harry left for Kentucky, the bitter words they’d flung at each other like bonobos flinging shit. And worse than that is an insidious voice whispering in his head that now that Harry’s back, now that the _real_ Galahad has returned, there’s no place for Eggsy Unwin in Kingsman anymore. With each heartbeat, that voice gets more convincing. 

Eggsy lifts his chin and looks Harry in the eye. “Welcome home, Galahad.” He keeps his tone cool, almost disinterested. “I’m pleased to see that reports of your death were premature.”

“Lad?” Merlin sounds puzzled. “I thought ye’d be a little happier that Harry’s back.”

“Of course I’m happy, this is a great day for Kingsman. Its greatest agent has returned from the dead.” Eggsy pastes a smile on his face. He is happy that Harry is alive, really. He offers Harry his hand, as if they were relative strangers meeting up at a business conference.

Harry doesn’t take it. Instead, he looks at Merlin and asks, “May Galahad and I could have some privacy?” 

Eggsy’s startled that Harry’s calling him “Galahad”, his own code name.

“Of course.” Merlin leaves them alone and Eggsy glances longingly at the glass of whisky he’d left on the desk. Maybe it is time to start working on his day drinking.

“I’m sorry, Eggsy.”

“What for?” It’s a stupid question. Eggsy knows what Harry’s apologizing for.

“For the cruel things I said to you after you failed the last test. I didn’t - “

Eggsy holds up a hand. “You don’t need to apologize. I let you down, and I embarrassed you and deserved your anger. I should have trusted that you - and Kingsman - wouldn’t have me kill a defenseless animal. I should have known better.” He can’t quite believe the words that are coming out of his mouth, but he isn’t going to humiliate himself by begging for a place in the organization. He will leave with his dignity and respect intact. At least he’s managed to bank most of his pay, and even if he can’t keep the sweet little house in Bloomsbury, he’ll find someplace just as nice for his mum and sister. Maybe it’s time they quit London altogether...

Harry looks puzzled. “Eggsy, my dear boy. You might have trusted me, trusted Merlin, but you had no reason to trust Chester. And from what I saw when he brought you back to toast my ‘death’, you definitely did not trust him one bit. But that’s not the point. The point is that I was out of line, what I said to you was unforgivable, but I hope that you will - if not now, then some day - find a way to forgive me. I did not propose you as a way to repay your father for his sacrifice.”

“Never thought you had. People say things when their angry, I understand that. If you need my forgiveness, you have it. Unconditionally.” Eggsy swallows hard. He ain’t one to hold a grudge, and truth is, he’d forgiven Harry pretty much the moment the man had left him in his house with instructions to stay put. He really does want to go to Harry and give him a hug and welcome him home proper-like, but he can’t. Not when all he can see is a grim future for him and his family, now that the real Galahad is back and ready to take up his position again. Maybe he can get work in private security, that might pay well. The very least Kingsman can do would be to write a recommendation for him after all he’s done. 

“What is going through your mind?”

Eggsy looks at his hand, at the Kingsman signet ring. He pulls it off and puts it on the desk. "Guess I need to give this back now. I’ll leave the rest of the gear in my - your - quarters. Will need a few days to get another place for my mum and sister to live. Do you think Merlin will give me two weeks before he kicks us out?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Do you hate me that much that you need to quit Kingsman?"

"Hate you? I don’t hate you at all, but you’re the real Galahad and now that you’re back, there ain’t no room for me. I’m just the chav who got lucky for a little while, kept your seat warm while you were wherever you were, doing whatever you needed to do." 

Harry picks of the ring and grabs Eggsy’s hand, shoving it back on his finger. “You are going nowhere, Galahad. God, I am such an idiot. I should have let Merlin explain everything first, but I couldn’t resist making the most dramatic entrance possible. I always have to be such a damn peacock.”

Eggsy pulls has hand free. “Explain what?”

“First, even if I was coming back as a field agent, you wouldn’t be getting the boot. You really think Kingsman would be so stupid as to let go of one of the most talented agents in its ranks? I’ve seen your record and I’m blown away at what you’ve accomplished in such a short time. If Arthur had to make a choice between a young and vital agent and one who is half-blind and can barely hold a gun, which one do you think he’d pick? There’s no question that he’d pick you. You are the future of Kingsman, Galahad. And I am so proud to have made that possible.”

Eggsy feels the tears start to gather. Hearing Harry praise him like this had long been an impossible dream. 

“Second. I am not going to be a field agent anymore. Those days are over."

"Can’t believe you’re just retiring. Gonna spend the rest of your days chasing butterflies?" Eggsy tries to make a joke but his heart isn’t in it. It’s a struggle not to start crying.

Harry smiles at him and it is like that brief moment during his training and Harry had come out of his coma and told him how pleased he was at the progress he’d made. Or when they’d had those twenty-four hours together and Harry had shared some incredible story over martinis, and Eggsy had felt like he finally had someone he could trust forever. 

"No, not really retiring. Just hanging up my Tokarov and my Oxfords with the poison knives and the lighters that go boom. Arthur really doesn’t need those things." Harry give him a look, one that seems to be begging him for understanding.

Eggsy blinks and shakes his head. Did he hear Harry right? "What? Arthur? You?"

Harry nods. "Merlin pulled you out of Sarajevo because there’s a Table vote this afternoon. He is proposing that I become Arthur."

Eggsy once had a mission in Oxford and he nearly lost track of his mark when the bells started ringing, and that’s what he feels like right now. Like his heart is beating double-time with uncontrollable emotion, and he does the very thing he had wanted to do from the first moment he’d seen Harry walk into the room.

He throws himself at Harry, wrapping his arms around him and cries like a lost child found.

Harry doesn’t push him away or tell him to grow up and be a man. He just hugs him back and whispers, "My dear boy, oh, my dear, dear boy."

It doesn’t take long for the storm to pass, but Eggsy doesn’t really want to pull away. He feels so safe in Harry’s arms, like he’d imagined what he’d feel like if he could remember his dad hugging him. But he does let go, sniffling a bit before reaching for a handkerchief. "Sorry about that. Don’t know what came over me." 

He wipes his eyes and looks at Harry, surprised to see that Harry is crying, too.

They stare at each other until they both smile a bit sheepishly. Eggsy apologizes. "Sorry - about all the drama and stupid assumptions. Guess I still got issues."

"No, no - it’s my fault. I didn’t let Merlin explain what had happened. I was so anxious to see you, and I should have realized what you would think."

"None of that matters any more. You’re gonna be Arthur and that’s the best thing that’s happened to Kingsman in a long time."

"Thank you, Galahad."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	8. Chapter 8

"And Galahad, how do you vote on the motion to elect Harry Hart as Arthur?" 

"I vote 'aye'." Eggsy give Merlin a broad grin and glances over at Harry, winking at him and Harry smiles back, letting the warm tide to happiness flow over him again.

"And with that vote, the motion passes, twelve in favor, none against, to make Harry Hart Arthur of Kingsman. Congratulation, Arthur and welcome back."

The assembled agents fill the room with clapping and cheering and Harry gets to his feet. "I probably should say something profound, but words escape me. Except that I am honored at the trust you’ve placed in me and I shall do everything possible to prove that I have earned it. Thank you."

One by one, the agents approach and congratulate him, and at some point, he hears the distinctive pop of a champagne cork. Merlin soon comes by with two flutes and hands him one. "Congratulations, Arthur. And thank ye."

"For what? Taking this load off your shoulders?"

"Aye, and for the extremely brief speech. Can’t help but remember Chester’s speeches, especially around the holidays, how he’d go on and on."

Harry knows it’s probably in extremely bad taste, given how Chester betrayed Kingsman and how he died, but he can’t help himself. In Chester’s nasal tones, he says, "Let me remind you that if you need to have any work done on your formalwear, please schedule your appointments as soon as possible. This is a very busy time of year for the tailors and while the shop will always support the agency, it is a moneymaking business and paying customers will take precedence." 

Merlin snorts, "Ye’re an evil man, Harry Hart."

"But that’s why I’m your best friend."

"True. Are ye heading back to Cornwall the day after tomorrow or are ye going to stay and take up the reins right away?"

Harry gives Merlin the stinkeye, which isn’t easy given that he only has one eye. "You know my family, they will come up to London en masse and drag me back to Cornwall if I don’t return soon. I promised I would stay with them through the New Year and they are going to hold me to that."

"Aren’t ye going out of yer mind from boredom yet, out there at the end of the world?" Merlin had been a frequent visitor during their school years, and even then, he could only take a week or so before climbing out of his skin from too much fresh air and not enough city lights.

Harry shrugs. "Not really. If I could spend six weeks by myself in a listening post at Tierra del Fuego because Chester was pissed at me, I can survive a month with my family."

"I remember that assignment, ye made friends with some penguins." Merlin chuckles. "Chester wanted some payback for yer insistence on one menorah for every Christmas tree in HQ and the dreidels at the 2013 Christmas party."

Harry corrects his old friend. "Holiday party."

"Right. God, I definitely don’t miss those things."

Eggsy choses that moment to approach and give Harry his best wishes for the season. "Happy Christmas, Arthur."

"Thank you, Galahad, but if you want to give me seasonally appropriate greetings, it’s 'Happy Chanukah'." 

Eggsy looks confused. "Chanukah?"

"Yes, the Jewish holiday celebrating the recovery of Jerusalem from the Macedonian Greeks and the start of the Maccabean revolt. It’s also called the Festival of Light because of the miracle of the lamp." Harry knows he’s being a bit pedantic, and a bit unfair to Eggsy, who still doesn’t know about his own heritage, according to Merlin.

"Bruv, I know what Chanukah is. Just didn’t know you were Jewish." Eggsy is still frowning.

"Does that bother ye, lad?" Merlin asks. 

Harry doesn’t think Eggsy is troubled at the revelation, it’s more that Judaism does not fit into the framework of what he knows about Harry Hart. And from Eggsy’s outraged reaction to Merlin’s accusation, he’s right.

"Fuck no! Just - just it’s not something I expected, that’s all! And _chag sameach_ , Harry." 

"Thank you. And as I’ve said before, you’re full of surprises."

"Yeah, well, one of my neighbors in the estate was Jewish. Dean and his muppets were right evil to them, so I’d watch out and protect them when I could. They’d invite me over to share the holidays since their kids weren’t around anymore. Picked up a few things over the years."

Merlin nods approvingly and apologizes for his assumption, which Eggsy accepts graciously.

Harry draws Eggsy away from Merlin, and asks, "Do you have any plans for the week after Christmas?"

"No, not really. Just hanging out with mum and Daisy. Catching up on some sleep, probably start champing at the bit for an assignment in about three days. Why?"

"I need a favor from you."

"Anything, Haz. You just have to ask."

Harry really should caution Eggsy against making blanket promises like that, but that’s for another time. "I am heading back to my family home in Cornwall until just after New Year’s, but I will need a few things brought down. I could have a driver bring them, but they are quite special and sensitive, and I think you would be the perfect courier."

"Of course! I’d be happy to." Eggsy rocks back on his heels, undoubtedly thinking that he’ll get to drive one of the Ferraris.

"Aren’t you the least bit curious about your cargo?"

"Figure it’s important Arthur stuff. NTK only."

"Nope, not in the least. You’ll be the chauffeur for three puppies. Gifts for my nieces and nephew." The appalled expression on Eggsy’s face is precious. "Regretting your offer? You don’t want to spend five hours in a car with three ten-week old retrievers?"

Eggsy lifts his chin and looks absolutely resolute, like he’s about to face a firing squad. "No, I have no problems with that at all. Looking forward to the road trip. Should be a blast."

"And I should also tell you that my family is quite anxious to meet you."

"What? Meet me? Why would they even know about me?"

Harry explains to Eggsy about the unveiling and Merlin’s plan to pull him from the mission in Sarajevo and bring him to the ceremony. "So, unless you have any objections, pack enough for a week’s stay in the country, and if your mother doesn’t mind, you can celebrate the new year with us and drive me back to London on the second."

"Mum won’t mind. She’s never been big on the holiday season. What with my dad dying right before Christmas." Eggsy gives him a hard stare.

"Ah, yes, of course." Harry nods, feeling slightly ashamed at forgetting.

"Besides, she ain’t much for staying up past ten much anymore, what with work and looking after a toddler. I’d probably just head out to see the fireworks along the river or something like that, nothing really exciting."

"So bring your formalwear for New Year’s Eve, and casual outerwear - "

Eggsy gets a funny look on his face.

Harry realizes that Eggsy probably does not have or know what would be suitable for a week at a country estate, no matter how casual it may be. "I’ll have Andrew put together a list of what you’ll need to bring and supply what you might need."

Eggsy looks relieved. "Thanks."

"And you’ll take one of the Land Rovers, only makes sense given the size of the travel crate and the potential for mess. Merrick will have instructions for you, but you probably will not be taking the dogs out until you arrive at Cardoc."

Harry’s about to go on about the dangers of letting young puppies nose around doggie convenience spaces at motorway service centers when he sees Eggsy rolling his eyes.

"All right, I’ll stop micromanaging."

Eggsy laughs. "Arthur for less than an hour, and you’re already a natural."

When Percival comes over, Eggsy excuses himself and goes to talk with Lancelot. Harry gives his old friend a sad smile. They’d spoken very briefly when Merlin had broken the news about Harry’s return from the dead, and it has seemed to Harry that Percival has been avoiding him. "How are you?"

"Honestly? Not great."

Harry understands and grieves for his friend. "In other words, why do I get to come back from the dead and not James?"

"Yes. I know it’s not rational or fair, but it’s how I feel." Percival doesn’t look away or try to mask the bitterness. "And it’s nothing against you, Harry. I’m glad that you’re alive, but I can’t help but wish that the miracle had extended to James, too. There’s no body in his grave, either."

"I’m sorry."

Percival shakes his head. "You have nothing to be sorry about. God’s hand touched you and gave you grace. And I am happy to have my friend back, and even happier to give him my loyalty and trust. You will be the best Arthur Kingsman has had in many years, Harry. I am honored to serve you."

"Alastair - " Harry chokes up.

"No, none of that. My grief will pass, my friendship is eternal."

Harry puts a hand on Percival’s shoulder, squeezing gently. "Thank you."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Eggsy’s a little surprised that Merlin’s at the kennels to see him off, given the pre-dawn hour. He’s even more surprised when Merlin takes JB’s lead from Merrick, the kennel master.

"I figured I’d watch this bugger for ye while yer away. He’s grown on me, like toe fungus." 

Eggsy can’t quite stifle a laugh. "Thanks. That’s really nice of you."

"And maybe we can have dinner when ye get back."

Eggsy looks up at Merlin, absolutely gobsmacked. And utterly delighted. "Yeah, sure. That would be aces."

Merlin nods, a small smile playing across his lips, softening the normally stern features. "Well, I’ll let ye get going."

Before Merlin can head back to his office, Eggsy has a question or two. "Um, Harry said you used to be a frequent visitor at his family home. Any advice on how to deal with His Lordship and Her Ladyship?" Eggsy’s more than a bit nervous about making the best possible impression on Harry’s brother and the rest of his family.

"Just be yerself. Stephen Hart is one of the kindest people I know, and his wife, Cicely, is just as lovely. If ye need a frame of reference, they are the absolute opposite of Chester King and his ilk. They are genuine, if ye know what I mean. When he tells ye to call him Stephen - and he will - do it. He respects his title and the obligations to the land and the people who live there, but he doesn’t particularly care for the crap that goes along with being an aristocrat."

"And what about Harry’s mother? Lady Miriam?"

"Sharp as your favorite knife, and ye’ll see right away that she’s more like Harry than Stephen. But like Stephen, she won’t be too interested in meaningless formality. She loves her family more than anything in this world, but if things had been different, she might have been a brilliant agent, herself. Do not underestimate her."

"All right, thanks." Eggsy had done his research on the family, using (and abusing) Kingsman resources, but there is nothing better than firsthand knowledge.

Merrick asks for a hand loading the large crate for the three puppies into the back of the Rover, and Eggsy goes to help. It’s large and awkward, just barely fitting into the cargo space, but they manage it. Brandon, the kennel master’s assistant, attaches the water bottles and fills the crate with some old towels to soften the corners and give the pups a place to sleep.

Merrick gives Eggsy very detailed instructions about caring for the little beasts en route, confirming what Harry had told him. "A small meal, about three hours into the drive should be fine, and make sure that the water bottles are topped up. You shouldn’t walk them in a public dog run - they are too young to be around grown dogs, so let them go in the cage. There are extra liners in the bag with the food." 

Merrick gestures for Brandon to approach, and he has all three puppies - dark brown curly coated retrievers - in his arms. Eggsy’s heart turns to mush, and it’s hard to resist going over and giving then some affection before they’re put into the crate. The kennel master tells him, "If you have any problems, don’t hesitate to call me." 

Eggsy asks, "How much trouble can three little puppies cause?"

Merlin, who has stayed to watch the process, chuckles, "Ye know, ye’ve just doomed yerself."

"Oi, shut up, you."

Merlin claps him on the shoulder and wishes him a safe journey. "And don’t let Harry bully ye into doing anything ye don’t want to do. If it gets too much, come home. Harry can get back to London by train like the big boy that he is."

"Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind." Eggsy does appreciate the offer of an escape hatch. Knowing that he can leave when he wants actually calms his nerves. Why the Hart family is so eager to meet him is baffling, but a promise is a promise. He gets in the Rover and rolls down the window. "Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?"

Merlin laughs. "Someone’s got to watch the shop, lad. And remember, we have a dinner date when you get home."

Eggsy’s stomach does a tiny flip at the word "date" but he just nods. "Looking forward to it."

The trip from HQ to Cornwall, even with three tiny puppies, goes without incident. Eggsy follows Merrick’s instructions and stops midway to feed the dogs and change the liner in the bottom of the crate. It’s not terrible, JB with a sour stomach is so much worse.

About twenty minutes from his destination, according to the GPS, Eggsy calls Harry and lets him know his ETA. When he pulls up to the front of a house that’s about half the size and about twice as old (if he’s any judge of such things) as HQ, Harry and a man who looks like Harry, but a bit older, a bit portly, and in possession of both eyes come out to greet him. There’s also a servant of some kind hovering behind them.

Eggsy gets down from the Rover and goes over to the men, nodding at Harry and introducing himself to the Marquess. "Lord Stephen, thank you for the invitation."

"Just Stephen, please. And welcome to Cardoc Manor. I am delight to meet you, Harry has never taken on a protege, so we’ve all been consumed with curious it’s about you." 

Eggsy looks over at Harry, who still doesn’t say anything. _Weird_.

For all his welcoming kindness, Stephen looks around Eggsy, like a kid hoping that Father Christmas has paid a visit.

Eggsy puts him out of his misery. "Yes, I’ve brought the puppies." 

Stephen rubs his hands together in anticipation, which Eggsy finds almost unbearably cute. 

Finally Harry says something. "Eggsy? When ever you’re ready?" Harry gives him a look and and Eggsy presses the key fob in his pocket to open the boot. The two men rush to the back of the Rover, and the analogy about children eager for Father Christmas couldn’t be more apt.

Of course, they stand there, looking at the puppies like children in front of a pet store window, at least until Eggsy catches Stephen’s eye, and he makes some attempt to appear like a grown-up. "All right, let’s get these buggers inside before the children get back."

Harry explains, "They are down at the beach - we wanted to surprise them."

Stephen adds, "My wife, Cicely, has done quite a bit of research on the best breed for family dogs with active children, but then she had a bit of trouble finding a breeder with three puppies to sell. We thought we’d have to settle for puppies from different litters, but Harry came to our rescue. He has the best connections. Guess that’s not surprising for a bespoke tailor." Stephen gives his brother a hug, looking proud and pleased.

Eggsy resists looking at Harry, but he smirks, just a bit. "No, it’s not surprising at all."

They manage to get the puppies into a small, warm room that has clearly been prepared for their arrival - with dog beds and wee-wee pads and baskets full of toys - before the rest of the Hart family returns from their outing. 

Stephen looks at Eggsy and shakes his head. "You must think I am the shabbiest of hosts. I haven’t even offered you refreshments or a chance to wash up."

"It’s fine. There are puppies, nothing more to be said on that score." Eggsy wouldn’t mind a chance to wash up, and a cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss, but he can wait. He finds Stephen Hart as kind and delightful as Merlin had promised.

"Harry, why don’t you take Eggsy up to the King Charles Suite? And if I can have the keys to the Rover, Eggsy, I’ll have your bags brought up and the crate cleaned out. And you can give me your coat. No need to wear it through the house."

Eggsy hands over both items. "That’ll be aces." He remembers his diction and who he’s talking to, "Thank you so much."

Stephen smiles and his resemblance to Harry is startling. "Take your time. When you come down, we’ll have lunch. Cicely and mother are looking forward to meeting you. So are the children."

Eggsy thinks that the children will be far more interested in the puppies than some stranger, but he’s not going to be rude and contradict his host.

Harry doesn’t say anything as he takes Eggsy through the house. not even to ask him if he’d had a good trip.

"Here we are, the King Charles Suite." Harry opens the door, revealing an extremely posh and spacious bedroom.

"Wow, nice." Eggsy wanders in, more than a bit awed. "Did one of the King Charles actually stay here?"

Harry nods. "Yes, Charles II. The manor had been burned down by Roundheads, but was rebuilt early in the Restoration. The Harts were Cavaliers, and supported the Stuarts, even following Charles into exile. They were much favored by the king during the Restoration and it’s quite possible there might even be some Stuart blood in the line, although we don’t talk about it."

Eggsy snorts, "Wouldn’t surprise me if there was." He sits on the bed and gives Harry a look. "So, now that we’re private, do you want to tell me why everyone is so eager to meet me?"

Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and to Eggsy’s shock, his cheeks turn bright red. He wanders over to the window and fiddles with the curtain, looking absolutely ill at ease.

"Haz?"

Harry finally looks at him, "My family thinks there’s something going on between us."

Eggsy’s a bit gobsmacked. "Seriously?" That is so very wrong.

Harry explains, "My family has a bad case of 'live in hope, die in despair'. I’ve never mentioned that I had a protégé before, or even dropped a hint of any kind of relationship with anyone from work, or even outside of work, so they are thinking that maybe, finally, I’m ready to settle down. Or at least make an attempt to have a personal life."

Eggsy doesn’t know what to say.

Harry adds, "My family will not be so rude as to ask outright, but they will drop hints."

Finally, Eggsy thinks of a response. "Just so you know, Merlin’s asked me to dinner. A date. When I get back. And I said yes."

Harry lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank fuck."

"You mean you thought that I might be interested? In you? Romantically? Sexually?" Eggsy barely holds back a full body shudder.

"I’d hoped not. Not that you aren’t an exceedingly attractive man, but well, I’m just not interested. In you. Romantically. Sexually." Harry looks so ill at ease. It would be funny if the conversation wasn’t so serious.

Before Eggsy can say anything and quite possibly put his foot into it, Harry clarifies. "I mean, I’m not interested in anything that involves anyones’ genitalia. Men’s or women’s. Not really interested in romance, either. Can do it when the situation calls for it for the job, but that’s it."

"So you’re asexual. Ace."

Harry smiles, relieved that Eggsy understands. "Exactly. I’ve never told my family."

"Why not?"

"It’s not something I’m comfortable discussing with them. They think I’m gay and I’m perfectly comfortable with that. Just the matchmaking can be a bit awkward at times."

"Bruv, you’ve walked through the valley of death. Don’t you think it’s a good idea to stop with the lies? I mean, yeah you can’t tell them what you really do for a living, but letting them think you’re gay when you’re ace has to be uncomfortable for you."

"That’s true." Harry sighs and sits down next to Eggsy. "The world is a very different place now. I couldn’t imagine having to deal with having to make this choice even a decade ago."

"Well, depends on where you’re from. Posh folks are a lot more accepting, generally. My old neighborhood? Being bent is a quick way to being dead, at least when folks find out." 

"I’ll take your advice under consideration. It’s sound and mature, and while I’m a man in my mid-fifties, some habits are hard to break when it comes to family dynamics. I’m not Harry Hart, bad ass super spy, but Harry Hart, son and brother and uncle."

Eggsy chuckles. "It is kind of nice seeing you like this. A little soft around the edges, you know?"

Harry snorts. "For that, I’m going to make you do the endurance course in a snowstorm. Or a heatwave."

"Nah, you love me too much." Eggsy wags his eyebrows. "Besides, you got to prove yourself better than old Chester, don’t you?"

Harry concedes the point, "That’s true."

There’s a knock on the door and Harry opens it to admit a servant with Eggsy’s luggage.

"I’ll let you wash up and get some rest if you want."

Eggsy rolls his eyes. "Bruv, the day I need to rest after a five-hour drive along England’s well-maintained motorways is the day I need to check into an old people’s home. Let me wash up and I’ll head downstairs with you. I might not need a nap, but I could use some lunch."

The main floor seems abandoned, which means the kids and the ladies are still out, and Harry heads back to the room where they’d stashed the puppies. "I will not be surprised to find my brother on his hands and knees, playing with the dogs."

"He don’t seem like one much for lordly dignity."

"Not in the least."

And as Harry had predicted, Stephen was sitting on the floor, letting the dogs climb all over him, looking like he’s having the time of his life. "I suppose you want lunch?"

"I’m fine, but your houseguest is a bit hungry after getting up at the crack of dawn and driving here from London without stopping."

Eggsy knows better than to correct Harry. He had stopped once, to feed the dogs, but that had been it. 

Stephen puts the puppies back in their bed and gets up. "Please forgive me, I am being a rather shabby host. Harry can fend for himself, of course."

"Believe me, I understand the allure. I love dogs, too."

"You have one of your own?" 

"Yeah, a pug. A mate watches him while I’m out of town. Takes real good care of him, even though he claims not to like the 'wee, hairy bastard'. Except I know better, since I’ve seen the two of them bonding over bacon butties."

Stephen gives him a curious look. "Sounds like someone I might know - Harry’s friend, Ian Stewart. And since you work at Kingsman, you must know him, too."

Eggsy thinks fast - real fast. Ian Stewart must be Merlin’s real name. "Yeah. Ian. We’re good friends."

"He’s a good man." Stephen brushes ineffectually at the puppy fur clinging to his trousers. "Did Ian tell you how he broke the news to me that Harry was alive?"

Eggsy glances over at Harry, who manages to look both smug and innocent at the same time. "No, but knowing _Ian_ and his gift for head games, I can only imagine."

Stephen chuckles. "Yes, it was - as my children might say - epic."

There’s a clatter and a bit of a ruckus coming from the other side of the door, and it sounds like boisterous children to Eggsy.

"Speaking of which, your offspring are back," Harry says unnecessarily. "Do we wait here until they’re gone or shall we sneak around via the servants’ corridor?"

Eggsy wants to laugh. Of course Harry’s ancestral home would have secret passages. 

"No, Cicely will let us know when it’s safe to come out. I’d texted that Eggsy had arrived, and that I was in with the newest members of the household."

Sure enough, there’s a light tapping on the door, and a woman come in. Stephen introduces her as Cicely and she is as warm and as unpretentious as her husband. "We are so happy you’re here. Did you have a good trip?"

"No problems at all."

"The children are getting cleaned up and ready for lunch, so I think it’s safe to step out."

Eggsy’s a little surprised that Cicely doesn’t do more than glance at the trio of sleeping dogs, and even more surprised that she notices. "I’m going to be spending the next decade and then some with them. And unlike my husband, I have a little self-restraint. Come, you must be hungry." She tucks her hand into Eggsy’s arm and leads him towards a small dining room, where there’s an elderly woman sitting at the head of the table, reading a newspaper. This must be Harry’s mum.

"So you are Harry’s protégé?"

"Yes, Lady Miriam."

"Come, sit next to me. I want to know everything about you."

"Mum - " Harry tries to intervene.

"Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle." Lady Miriam, folds up the newspaper and pats the seat next to her. Eggsy has no choice. "Now, tell me, how did you two meet?"

Eggsy had figured that he’d get asked this question, and had formulated an answer on the ride down. "Harry knew my dad before he died, and when he came to pay his respects, he told me that if I ever needed anything, to call him. A few years ago, I found myself in a bit of trouble and finally decided to call him. Harry was aces and fixed things, but said I needed to get my life in order, make something of myself. Asked if I wanted to be a bespoke tailor like him."

Lady Miriam nods, but she has an odd look in her eye, like she knows something. Which is absolutely impossible. Stephen and Cicely ask him what he likes about being a tailor, and if he looks forward to working for Harry.

"Absolutely! The first best day of my life was Harry coming to my rescue. The second best day of my life was Ian telling me that Harry was alive, and Harry telling me he was taking over the shop. Still can’t believe it." Eggsy looks over at Harry and gives him a goofy smile. "Harry’s been like the older brother I never had." _There, that should make it clear that there’s nothing romantic between us._

Lady Miriam snorts, a decidedly inelegant sound. "I can’t quite picture Harry as a molder of young and impressionable minds."

"Well, it’s not as if one of the first things Harry taught me was how to make a proper martini." Eggsy gives Harry a wink.

Stephen chimes in, "The one where you glance at an unopened bottle of vermouth?"

"Yeah. That’s how you like your martinis, too?"

"It’s how our father taught us, and _he_ stole that 'recipe' from Winston Churchill."

Eggsy can’t resist the opportunity to tease, "Harry, I’m very disappointed in you. I thought you were so clever - figuring out a cool way to drink nearly pure gin."

"Sorry, my dear boy, but there comes a time when every idol reveals his feet of clay." Harry’s retort earns laughter from everyone. 

Three children - Harry’s nieces and nephew - join them, and Eggsy isn’t surprised at what a handsome bunch they are. 

Cicely gives Eggsy their names. "Ellonwy is our eldest, and then Gwydion, and last - but certainly not least - Angharad. Children, this is your Uncle Harry’s friend, Eggsy."

Each of the children introduces themselves, and Eggsy’s relieved that they use a less weighty version of their name. The little girl, though, is a bit surprising. "You can call me Harry if you want. Sometimes I like being called Harry. Sometimes I like being called Angie. Mummy and Daddy say it’s all right if I change up things some time." She gives him a shy look. "Eggsy’s a funny name. Did you get teased a lot when you were my age?"

"Yeah, but I didn’t care. It was a name my dad gave me and that was something more important to me than not being teased."

"Mummy is reading a book with me called 'The Blue Sword' and the heroine is also called Angharad. She also goes by Harry. We read a chapter a night. Do you have a little girl to read to?"

Eggsy nods. "I do. I have a little sister. She’s a bit too young for that story, but when she’s old enough, we’ll read it together, too."

Angie nods gravely. "When Uncle Harry was dead, I really wanted to be called Harry, so I wouldn’t forget him. But kids at school would tease me, because Harry’s a boy’s name."

"Well, Harry can be a girl’s name, too, Just tell them that it’s short for Angharad, just like in your book." 

Angie frowns, "Sometimes that’s even worse because no one’s ever heard of the name Angharad."

"And no one’s ever heard of Gwydion or Ellonwy either, because we’re Cornish, not Welsh." Gwyn mutters sullenly.

"Gwyn - " There’s a wealth of frustration in Stephen tone, as if this is an oft-heard complaint.

"Sorry, dad." Gwyn looks at Eggsy. "Welcome to Cardoc, I hope you enjoy your visit."

"Thank you." Eggsy figures this will be the extent of his total conversation with Gwyn. He has no idea what to say to a teenage boy, especially one of the privileged class.

Despite that moment of awkwardness, the rest of the meal goes smoothly. Eggsy notices that Stephen is surreptitiously checking his phone and he wonders if there are camera in the room with the puppies. Probably. As the newcomer, Eggsy finds himself subject to a bit of polite interrogation by all of the family members, even the children. He answers easily, even when Ellie tries out her nascent teenage wiles and asks if he has a girlfriend.

“No girlfriend, since I like boys. But one of my best mates is a girl, although she’d kick my - ”, Eggsy censors his language, “booty from here to John O’Groats if she heard me call her a girl.” That gets a laugh, and thankfully, no one asks if he has a boyfriend. He’s not shy, but he and Merlin ain’t even had their first date yet, so calling him his boyfriend would be kind of sketchy.

"Children - " All all turn to the lord of the manor. Stephen, for all his gentle ways, can still command the room with a single word. "Earlier this month, I went up to London and came back with a wonderful present for everyone - my brother, Harry. But before the big reveal, there was some expectation that this great gift might be of the warm and furry variety."

The three young Harts let out various sounds of delight, and young Angie actually squeaks. 

"Your mother and I, in consultation with your Uncle Harry, made an acquisition."

Lady Miriam, in her no-nonsense fashion, gets to her feet and interrupts her son. "Stephen, do stop dragging this out. Harry is supposed to be the drama queen in the family. Come along, children. We have another set of introductions to make."

The kids scramble out of their seats with little dignity, but Lady Miriam seems to have enough of that for all of her grandchildren. She glances back at the elder Harts and at Eggsy. "Coming?"

The introduction of children to puppies is as delightful as Eggsy figured it would be, but frankly, there’s only so much treacle that he can take. It’s still early, the sun is out, and he wouldn’t mind some fresh air. "Haz, any chance you can point me towards the nearest exit? I think I’d like to take a walk, get a look at the countryside."

Harry asks, "Would you mind some company?"

"You? Not at all."

Harry retrieves their coats and takes Eggsy down towards the beach, but they stay far above the tide line. "If you want to walk along the shoreline, you’ll need boots. If you haven’t brought a pair, I’m sure there’s a spare pair in your size in the mud room that you can borrow."

"I brought boots and a pair of old trainers. Was thinking it would be nice to go for a run at low tide. Are you up for that yet? Maybe you’d like to join me?"

Harry looks thoughtful. "Honestly, I’m not sure I’m capable."

Eggsy finally gives into his curiosity. "You’ve never really told me much about your recovery. What happened after Valentine shot you."

"There’s not that much to tell. I got shot in the face, the glasses deflected most of the bullet, but there was a still lot of cranial damage." Harry looks out over the water. "I spent four months in a coma and the doctors did not expect me to come out of it. I had been shipped over to a rehab facility once I’d stabilized."

"Warehoused with the worst cases." Eggsy shudders, imagining the indignity.

"Basically."

"And then you woke up."

"Yes, and then I woke up. I didn’t know my name, but I knew I could be in grave danger. It took months to sort everything out, to get back on my feet and get the rest of my memory back."

"I can’t imagine that the Americans just let you go without paying the bills, though."

Harry laughs. "That’s absolutely true. But it’s not as if they kept me chained to the bed or the doors bolted. As soon as I was mobile, I stole a set of street clothes, boosted a car, hacked into an ATM, boosted several more cars, and got to my off-the-grid safe house in Baltimore"

"Off the grid?" Eggsy wonders just what that means, in the context of Kingsman.

Harry explains, "A place that has no connection to Kingsman. I didn’t know who I could trust, and I didn’t know how I could reach Merlin without sending up a flag. I knew that Chester had betrayed me to Valentine, and I couldn’t risk exposing my existence to the agency. I’d set up that place twenty years ago, with funds and travel documents, just in case I needed a place to hide out and a way to get home."

"Ahh, I was wondering how you got back to England without triggering all sorts of alerts."

"Stephen believes that my passport had never been cancelled, since no death certificate had been issued."

"Which might well be true, but you didn’t travel as Harry Hart." Eggsy knows from his own experience as a Kingsman that he never travels under his own name.

They walk along an old, well-worn path parallel to the sea; Eggsy finds the sounds of the surf and the distant cries of seagulls soothing. But something about Harry’s story nags at him. "Your bolt-hole. Did you expect Kingsman to betray you? Or that you would betray Kingsman?"

Harry doesn’t answer right away. In fact, they walk a good long while before Harry responds. "I think I always expected Chester to turn on me, which is a hard thing to admit. There was a time, when I was about your age and experience - years in the agency I mean - that I looked up to Chester. The man who had been Arthur when I became Galahad had been a fossil of a different sort, and Chester had seemed so dynamic, so committed to the principles that the agency was founded on. It was only after he became Arthur that I learned that Chester was not the man I thought he was - that he was deeply racist and classist, an antisemite. He fawned on my aristocratic connections, but at the same time, despised me because I was Jewish. I set up that bolt-hole, and others like it to protect myself when his betrayal inevitably came. I am very glad you were the one to put an end to his existence."

Eggsy is outraged by Chester King all over again. "He died too easily."

"That poison made his late moments very painful."

"Not painful enough, bruv. He should have lingered in agony for hours."

"And ruined your chance to save the world? Merlin showed me the video of your confrontation with him. I am honored by your loyalty, especially after my harsh words to you."

Eggsy shakes his head. "None of that, Haz. Told you, none of that matters. We both did wrong that day. No matter what, I’ll stand by you. Always." 

Harry looks at him, his expression both tender and fierce. "I pray to God that I will always be worthy of your respect and loyalty."

Eggsy can’t imagine Harry Hart, whether it’s this Harry Hart or one beamed down from some other, alternate universe, being anything less than the perfectly true and good and honorable man that he is.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	9. Chapter 9

The week that Harry spends with Eggsy in the wilds of Cornwall is deeply satisfying. He hadn’t really spent a lot of time with Eggsy, given his lengthy coma while Eggsy had been competing for the Lancelot spot. And then, of course, he’d been dead for most of the last year. When he thinks about it, he’d spent a little more than thirty hours with Eggsy before this interlude, which is really rather ridiculous, considering how important Eggsy is to him.

But this week has been, without qualification, a delight. Spending time with Eggsy, getting a chance to really know what makes this man tick, his hopes and fears and dreams, and having a chance to share his own story, has been an amazing gift.

Harry has also enjoyed watching Eggsy interact with three generations of Harts as easily as if he’d grown up with them. Eggsy never pretends to be anyone but who he is, a man who grew up in a London housing council estate with fairly dead end prospects, until Harry offered him a way out. His family respects that and honors the effort, much the way they had welcomed Merlin, back when they’d been schoolboys and Ian Stewart was mostly plaid and acne and Gaelic rage.

He’s almost sorry that this interlude is over. Harry loves his family, almost beyond reason, but for decades, he’d chafed at the obligations they’d imposed on him. Not anymore. He’ll go back to Kingsman and take up the mantle of Arthur, but there will be a bit of reluctance in his leave-taking.

Stephen comes over with a fresh pint for each of them. They are at Tremartin’s in the village, sampling the latest batch of winter ale. Eggsy’s at the other side of the room, playing darts with the locals and doing just well enough to be a gracious winner or loser, depending on his opponent’s skill. Harry sighs and Stephen picks up his mood. "What’s wrong?" 

"Wrong?" Harry sips at his pint and plays dumb.

"You look sad."

"Just a little sorry that I’m heading back to London tomorrow. This past month has been … " Harry doesn’t quite know how to describe the time.

Stephen understands. "You could stay, you know."

"No, I can’t. As much as I’ve enjoyed my time with everyone, I think I would quickly lose my mind if I stayed much longer." Harry is quick to console his brother, though. "But now that I’ll be based in London, you’ll be seeing me far more regularly."

"And I guess with all of that money you’ve invested in the shop, it’ll be a shame for it to go to waste."

"That’s true." The night before Eggsy’s arrival, Stephen had delicately inquired if Harry needed funds to complete his purchase of Kingsman. The conversation had become awkward for Harry when his mother added her thoughts on the subject, all too innocently suggesting that the family would be happy to make an investment in such an important business.

"And once Gwyn starts therapy, we’ll be in the city every week. Can’t promise that we’ll always be able to see you, but we’ll try as much as we can."

"Of course." Harry had pulled a few strings with the medical personnel at HQ and gotten Gwyn on the appointment books for three Harley Street psychiatrists who specialize in childhood trauma. Hopefully one of them will have the right combination of skill and empathy to help his nephew. 

There’s a shout from the other side of the room and Eggsy claps someone on the back and shouts, "This round’s on me."

Smiling, Stephen shakes his head. "He’s a good man. Not what I expected, but rather sterling. You have a way of gathering very special people to you."

Harry ducks his head, slightly embarrassed at the praise. "Eggsy has exceeded every expectation I had for him."

"We talked a bit the other day, when you were out with mum. I thought maybe that bit about you being like an older brother to him was just window dressing, a little bit of face-saving for you - letting you stay in the closet, but he was utterly sincere."

Harry take a deep breath. It’s time to come clean. "I’m not in the closet, Stephen. There is no closet for me."

"It’s all right, you don’t have to lie. Mum knows, Dad knew. Cicely and I know."

"What do you think you know?"

"That you’re gay."

Harry shakes his head. "I’m not gay."

"Oh." Stephen looks absolutely gobsmacked. "I’m sorry. It’s just that you’ve never said anything about a girl, or a woman, or anyone."

"That’s because there isn’t anyone. There never has been anyone, man or woman. I’ll be blunt about it. I’m asexual and very happy that way." 

Stephen blinks and Harry can see his brother readjusting his perceptions. He waits for the inevitable, braces himself for the unintentionally insulting set of questions that are sure to come. _Are you sure? Maybe you just haven’t met the right person? Is it a medical thing? Maybe there’s a pill that can help?_ But his brother surprises him. "All right. As long as you’re happy. Just let us know which flag we should be flying."

"Flag?" Harry is confused.

"Yes, which Pride flag. We have hoisted the rainbow flag for you and Ian, and a bisexual pride flag for Cicely’s sister in the forecourt in June for the last five or so years. I’m pretty sure there’s an ace flag, too. Got to get it right."

Harry stares at his brother, his turn to be absolutely gobsmacked. "I didn’t know that."

"Well, maybe if you visited a little more often…"

Harry feels his whole body start to tremble and everything has gone blurry. He puts his head down on the table and lets the tide of emotion wash over him.

"Hey, what’s the matter? Is everything all right? Haz?" 

Harry feels a hand on his back and then a warm body next to him as Eggsy slides into to the booth. 

Stephen says, "Excuse my brother. He is having a moment."

Harry looks up and everything is still a blurry mess. He pulls out his handkerchief, takes off his glasses and wipes his face. He puts them back on and the world snaps back into focus, but it’s all still a bit askew.

"Harry?"

He gives Stephen a watery smile "I’ll be down in June. We’ll hoist the flags together."

"Perfect. Mum will be delighted. It was her idea, you know."

Harry has to laugh. "Of course it was."

Eggsy just looks confused but he has the good sense not to ask questions. Harry will explain everything on the trip back home tomorrow.

“I think we should get going, Cicely will have my balls for starters if we are late for dinner." 

Harry drains his glass and gives Eggsy a shove so he can get out. Stephen gets to his feet too, but seems a bit wobbly. 

"Give me the keys, bruv." Eggsy holds out his hand. "And none of your lordly nonsense about being able to hold your beer and knowing the road. I have both of my eyes and I haven’t had anything to drink this afternoon, so I’m the designated driver."

Stephen grins at Harry but doesn’t hesitate to hand the keys to the Jaguar to Eggsy. Eggsy makes an effort to keep to the speed limit on the short ride back to the manor, something Harry knows isn’t easy for Eggsy, who loves fast cars.

They head their separate ways, Stephen to spend time with his children and puppies, and Harry and Eggsy upstairs, to their rooms. Harry tells Eggsy, "Stop by before you go down to dinner, I have something for you."

Eggsy gives him a puzzled smile, but just says, "Sure thing," and heads to his room. Harry pulls out his formalwear and checks the polish on his shoes. The family had forgone a formal celebration for New Year’s Eve, preferring to spend the night playing silly games and watching cheesy movies, saving the more elaborate event for Harry and Eggsy’s last night at Cardoc. 

Harry prefers it this way. Without the pressure of the holiday and family togetherness, the children will scatter - or more likely, to sneak the dogs out of the puppy quarantine and into to their bedrooms - leaving the adults to enjoy one last evening together. 

After a quick shower and shave, Harry relaxes and thinks about his conversation with Stephen. He had been so afraid of his brother’s reaction and the myriad of questions he’d have to field, but that fear now seems so … pointless. Stephen is not like that. He never has been. Nor has Cicely. And his mother? Perish the thought. She wouldn’t be so rude. 

Merlin will likely laugh his ass off when Harry tells him about Stephen’s reaction. Like Eggsy, he’s told Harry that keeping silent is stupid. With any other family, it might have been the wiser decision, but his brother is too open-minded to get weird about Harry’s sexual orientation. After all, Stephen had stood up for _him_ when he came out, and that was during some pretty dark times.

The more Harry thinks about it, the more he realizes he owes his brother an apology.

In the hour or so before he has to start getting dressed for dinner, Harry scans through his emails and gets a taste of his life to come. As of the first of the year, Merlin has been copying him on every single bit of Kingsman business, from the excruciating details about the budgets to recruitment efforts for a dozens of middle and high level positions throughout the organization. At least he’s not yet brought into the endless slipstream of mission data; that is too sensitive to be transmitted over even the most secure email servers. 

A little after six, Harry tosses his phone aside and starts dressing. He’d lost a lot of weight and muscle mass during his convalesce, and his tuxedo - particularly the jacket - is still a bit big around the shoulders, but there’s to be done about that now. He’ll have his wardrobe brought it and tailored over the next few months, since he doesn’t expect to have much free time to spend working out in the Kingsman training facilities.

He’s putting on his watch when there’s a polite knock on the door. "Eggsy?"

"Yeah, it’s me."

"Come in."

Eggsy enters and Harry doesn’t say anything, he just drinks in the sight of Eggsy in an outrageously gorgeous Kingsman tuxedo - a satsuma orange velvet jacket with dark navy trim and matching trousers.

"Is it too much?"

"No, it’s perfect, and perfectly you. You wear it well." 

"Thanks. You look pretty spiffy yourself, but then that ain’t hard, being Harry Hart and all."

Harry laughs.

"You said you wanted to see me before we went down."

"Yes." Harry goes over to a bureau and takes out a worn leather box and turns it over in his hands. "A couple of times this week you’ve called me the older brother you’ve never had."

Eggsy nods. "Yeah, know it’s stretching that a bit, but I thought it would be weird to say you were like my dad. Especially with your mum sitting there. And then when Stephen asked, I could have said you were actually more like a dad, but it still felt strange."

Harry smiles. "I understand, and I appreciate your consideration. But I wouldn’t have minded. In fact, I would have been honored."

Eggsy nods. "Yeah. Okay."

Harry holds out the box. "My maternal grandfather gave me this, when I had my bar mitzvah."

Eggsy doesn’t take the box. "Bar mitzvah?"

"It’s a ceremony, usually when a young man turns thirteen. He is called up to read from the Torah. It signifies the moment when he is deemed an adult in the eyes of the community." For some reason, Harry finds himself getting choked up at the memory. "My grandfather gave me this and asked me to give it to my son when the time came. I will never have a son of my body, but you are the son of my soul."

"Harry - " Eggsy sniffles. 

"I would be honored if you accept this as a gift from a very proud father and wear it when you won’t need to shoot someone with a knockout dart."

Eggsy chuckles and wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand before he he takes the box and opens it. "It’s lovely, really." Eggsy takes off the Bremont with all of its high-tech complications and removes the old watch from the box. "Can you tell me about this?"

"It’s a Vacheron-Constantin Swiss watch, circa 1938. My great-grandfather bought it in Geneva and gave it to his son, my grandfather, to celebrate _his_ bar mitzvah. It’s engraved."

Eggsy turns it over and frowns. "I don’t think I can read this."

"I know, it’s in Hebrew. _Baruch sh'ptarani m’onsho shel zeh_ , which means, 'Blessed is He who frees me from the penalties due to this one'."

Eggsy blinks, clearly taken aback. "That’s a funny thing to put on the back of a watch."

Harry knows that, he had been a little freaked when his grandfather translated the Hebrew, too. "It’s the traditional blessing of a father to his son on his bar mitzvah. He thanks God to have been able to raise and teach his child, and bring him to manhood. Now, I may be risking God’s wrath in invoking this blessing, since I had little to do with bringing you to manhood - "

Eggsy cuts him off. "No, Haz. You had everything to do with making me a man. I was much of one when you found me - you said so yourself. I’d wasted all of my opportunities and was too busy whining to shift myself - "

"No, don’t run yourself down. You stayed to protect your mother and your sister; to do that, you came home from the Marines when you were trying your best to escape from the shitty life I’d left you and Michelle in. The only thing I’ve done is give you a chance to prove you are the man you always could be."

"We can argue this until the heat death of the universe, bruv. I’m going to wear this tonight and every time I put it on, I going to think about the man who did a pretty good job of being a father just when I needed him."

Harry does his best not to cry. “When I stood there, after killing all those people in Kentucky, facing Valentine and thinking it all ends here, I was filled with such terrible regrets. That I walked away after Lee had been killed and it was so obvious that you and your mother needed help so desperately, that we parted with such terrible bitterness between us, and worst of all, that I would never have the chance to see you become a Kingsman. You were the last thing I thought of before he shot me.

“I have never been a terribly spiritual man, my Judaism is more of a cultural identity than a belief in God, but I have to wonder if God spared me to give me a chance to share this blessing with you.”

“Oh, Harry.” 

They both give up any pretense of not crying and Harry pulls Eggsy into his arms, feeling the rightness of this contact settle into his bones. “My boy, my dear boy.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	10. Epilogue

After a nearly unbroken streak of perfect weather, a nasty winter storm is bearing down on the entire eastern coast of England three days into the New Year. It is set to hit by mid-day, so Harry and Eggsy decide to leave Cornwall early in the morning to avoid to worst of it.

“You have everything?” Harry meets Eggsy in the hallway a little after five AM.

“Yeah, I double-checked and triple-checked my room.” He hefts his bag and reaches for Harry’s.

Harry slaps his hand away. “I am more than capable of carrying my own luggage.”

Eggsy shrugs, which becomes a chuckle when a footman - who should have still been sleeping - relieves Eggsy of his burden and takes Harry’s bag with a murmured “sir”.

Rather than get into a tug of war with a servant, Harry graciously says, “Thank you, Oscar,” and lets the man take the luggage downstairs and out to the car.

Stephen and Cicely join them in the hallway. They are still in their sleepwear, faces rumpled, and Stephen sporting a rather epic case of bedhead.

"Why are you up? I thought we said our goodbyes last night?"

"You really think we’re going to let you go without saying goodbye again? Stephen reaches out and wraps Harry in a tight bear hug, kissing his cheek.

"Let go of me, you lunk. Your breath could knock over your prized breeding ram."

Just for that, Stephen kisses him again, before letting Cicely have a go. "We’ll see you soon, Harry?"

"I’ll try to come down in March, and I will definitely be here for Passover."

"Good. We can’t wait to see you again."

"You’ll send me pictures of the puppies?"

Cicely laughs, "I think you’ll regret asking that." She and Stephen turn to Eggsy. "You are more than welcome to come, too. Any time, and bring Ian. We would love to see him and tease him to death about finally getting his act together and finding someone decent to spend his life with."

Eggsy reminds them, "We’re still in the early stages, haven’t even had our first date yet, but I’d like to come back. With or without Ian. You’re special people - all of you. Thank you for having me." Eggsy bites his lip and flushes a bit, a little overcome.

Cicely gives him a kiss and Stephen shakes his hand. "We’re heading back to bed. Let us know when you get back into town, all right?"

Harry sighs. "Of course."

He and Eggsy head downstairs, passing poor Oscar the footman on his way back up. Harry stops him and hands the young man a fifty quid note. "Thank you."

The young man nods and visibly tries - and fails - to stifle a a yawn. "Thank you, sir."

Instead of heading to the front door, Harry takes Eggsy through to the kitchen. "We’ll get coffee and something for the road. Cook said she’d leave breakfast pasties for us to take, unless you want me to make breakfast?"

"Nah. Nothing wrong with a good Cornish pasty. Developed a taste for them."

Harry is absolutely not surprised to find his mother sitting in her usual spot, with her cup of coffee and her crossword puzzle. "Morning, mum."

"Good morning, my dear. Good morning, Eggsy. Sleep well?"

"Yes, and you?"

"Quite well, which is such a pleasure. Must have been all of the wine and music last night."

Harry had been surprised to see his mother get slightly tipsy. She had relaxed her iron will and perfect composure and asked Eggsy to dance. Harry had been utterly charmed, watching the pair waltz around the parlor.

“And yet, here you are, with your coffee and your puzzle, and it’s barely five AM.”

“You didn’t think I would let you go without saying goodbye?”

Harry sighs as he repeats the exchange he just had with Stephen and Cicely, “Of course not.” He kisses Miriam’s cheek before getting out the travel thermoses. 

“Eggsy, how are you with crossword puzzles?” 

Harry freezes, that question is so innocent and yet so deadly - if his last encounter with it is anything to go by.

“Pretty decent. I like puzzles, generally.”

Miriam nods. “Good, they’ll keep you sharp. But lately, I find I need help - age is creeping up on me. Would you mind giving me a little assistance before you head out? Today’s puzzle is particularly tricky.”

Eggsy looks over at Harry’s, his face clouded with worry. Harry can’t tell him that his mother is playing a very deep game, so he just nods.

“Sure. I’ll help if I can.”

“Thank you, my dear. The first clue that’s giving me a headache is 'Beef that Wellington might have had with a sword and a stone?' Six letters, first letter is 'a', last letter is 'r'."

Harry’s heart sinks. He should have expected this.

Eggsy frowns and says, "Well, the Duke of Wellington’s first name was Arthur, and King Arthur pulled the Excalibur from the stone? So maybe that?"

Miriam hmmm, writes something down and nods. "That will work. Let’s see if it’s correct with the cross. Next clue is 'Good night, green knight', seven letters and the second letter crosses 'Arthur' at the 'a'."

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but his mother’s sharp glare silences him. He goes back to making the coffee and figures that Eggsy will need to stand on his own if he wants to be part of this family.

"Geez, this one might be pulling it out of my arse, but 'Gawaine'?"

"Could be." Miriam writes that down. "And here’s another head scratcher. 'Empty boils with great frequency?', nine letters, seventh letter is 'l'."

Eggsy’s reaction is predictable. "Ewww, gross."

Harry wonders how long he can let this go on.

"Come on, my boy. What do you think?"

There’s something in his mother’s tone that makes Eggsy look at her sharply, and then at Harry.

"It’s a pun, right?"

"You tell me."

Harry can see Eggsy start to put the pieces together. "Lancelot?"

"Hmmm, yes. That will fit." The sound of his mother’s pen scratching on the newsprint is way too loud. "Two more clues, and that should do it. Seven letters this time, last letter is 'd'. 'Pure of heart'."

"There seems to be a theme in your puzzle, Lady Miriam. Try 'Galahad'." Eggsy gives Harry a small, secret smile and a knowing wink. Harry struggles not to roll his eye.

His mother writes that down. "Well, well, you’re right."

"And is the last answer 'Excalibur' perchance?" Eggsy grins, but Harry knows just how this little headgame is going to end. None of these clues are real

"No, I don’t think so, too many letters. The last clue is 'Bespoke tailor on Savile Row that is a front for an independent intelligence agency', eight letters. I think I can fill that in with the crosses. And what do you know, the answer is 'Kingsman'. How very odd." His mother folds up the newspaper, covers her pen and gets up. "Have a good trip back to London, my dears. Do try not to speed too much," She kisses Eggsy on the cheek, and then Harry, before exiting the kitchen like Maria Callas leaving the stage at La Scala.

"Haz - ?"

"In answer to your question, Eggsy, yes, my mother knows. She dropped that bombshell on me the morning after I arrived here, also via a set of extremely creative crossword puzzle clues. Apparently she has known since I became Galahad over thirty years ago, and she never said a word to me, or to anyone."

"Jesus fuck, Harry."

"Yes, well, that is one way to put it. Now, there’s a packet with food in the icebox, would you please retrieve that and the cream for the coffee. Once I fill the thermoses, we can get going. Unless you want to stand there like a statue until the end of time and make me drive, with my one eye, back to London in a rain storm."

__

FIN


End file.
